


Running with Shadows

by what_the_butler_saw



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Emotions, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, Rare Pair, Reality, Slow Burn, Smut, Soul-Searching, all the feels, being there for each other, finding each other, keeping it real, learning to cope, minor malcolm hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 31,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_the_butler_saw/pseuds/what_the_butler_saw
Summary: Hawke returns to Skyhold after the defeat of Corypheus, to work out once a for all whether a certain former Templar really is as indifferent to him as he maintains.Cullen realises there's more going on for Hawke than he lets on, but struggles to remain as stoic as he'd like, while battling his own demons.Sloooow burn, ton of angst with lot of fluff, oh so much fluff, smut, and a happy ending!





	1. Old Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

> Post 'Doom Upon All the World', pre-Trespasser.  
> I've been liberal with time line, events and lots of things really, but I haven't changed the main plot points.  
> Smut chapters are 13, 19 and 20 if that's what you're here for!  
> I hope you enjoy this lil labour of love :)  
> As always, comments and kudos are very welcome <3  
> A massive THANK YOU to two wonderful readers, Cabbagewings and Starla-Nell for beta reads, suggestions, unstinting generosity with comments and time, and all the wonderful things they've said here.  
> Previously posted 2017 and reposted 2018 after edits.

Cullen paused before answering the Inquisitor. ‘Is asking Hawke to stay on a wise idea, Inquisitor?’ 

Evan lifted his head from perusing the chart on Cullen’s desk and gave Cullen a look. ‘Hawke can teach the mages and soldiers here things they would never learn anywhere else.’ He straightened. ‘I know you and he have a bit of history, he said you haven’t spoken since he arrived.’ 

Cullen scrubbed a hand round the back of his neck, a move watched by the elf, who met his gaze. He lowered his gaze to the charts on the table and idly pushed a marker. 

Hawke represented many things to Cullen. Wildness and freedom, memories of Kirkwall and the Gallows, and bad decisions made by so many good people. Thoughts which jumbled in his head making him antsy. 

‘Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something here? I thought you and the Champion were on good terms.’ 

Cullen nodded slowly. ‘We were. I haven’t really seen him since Kirkwall. I didn’t get a chance before we went to Adamant and afterwards he left ... he left quickly.’ Tension coiled through him, or perhaps anticipation. Tactically there was no reason for Hawke not to stay. They could have made use of him sooner if he hadn’t been gallivanting round the countryside like an irresponsible fool but he could hardly tell Evan that the thought of Hawke roaming Skyhold made him feel restless and lightheaded. He recalled the times they’d worked together, the odd occasion they’d met socially and how he’d felt hot and embarrassed and Hawke was too much like a flame burning, drawing his eye; his memories were a patchwork of unease and attraction. It felt too much, as sensitive as a new scar. Cullen shook his head, unable to form a coherent sentence from that or one that he thought the Inquisitor needed to hear, and let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘We were,’ he repeated. ‘I merely—‘ 

‘Wait, that sounds an awful lot like you’re saying it might affect you working together. Did something happen?’ 

‘Nothing happened.’ 

Evan held his gaze a moment. ‘I know how bloody stoic you can be, but if you want to talk something through I’m here. Relax,’ he said, as Cullen looked away. Evan squeezed Cullen’s arm gently. ‘I’m not prying. I know about Meredith and Hawke’s part in that. It must have been difficult.’ 

Cullen kept his face neutral. The Inquisitor was radiating earnest attention and it rankled. His thoughts felt woolly and indistinct, and he really didn’t want to lay his decisions, his mistakes, out for Evan to see. ‘It’s not necessary. Thank you. I merely wanted you to be aware that Hawke was never one for taking orders. I can’t remember him ever doing as advised.‘ 

‘But that was his strength wasn’t it?’ 

‘Partly. But ignoring his magic was never easy. He wasn’t quiet about it.’ 

‘Your scar, that was Hawke?’ 

Cullen closed his eyes briefly. The memory of those words passing his lips and the surprise and disappointment in Hawke’s eyes, because his friends were mages, his father, his way of life, made his face burn all over again. The pain of the split lip had been nothing in comparison to how he’d felt later as he’d lain in his single cot in the dormitory and vowed to try to make things better. ‘No, it was his brother. I deserved it.’ 

‘A healer could have closed it properly.’ 

‘That would have been rather hypocritical of me, don’t you think? Besides, it reminded me what a fool I had become.’ 

‘Not a fool, Cullen. When our backs are against the wall we do and say all sorts of things we regret.’ 

‘Yes, well it feels like my back has been against that wall for a very long time.’ 

Evan nodded slowly. ‘You never tried to bring him into the Circle?’ 

‘He served best outside of the circle, but watching him forced to resort to blood magic on more than one occasion and being powerless to protect him was more—‘ he caught Evan’s look of raised eyebrows. ‘He answers to no-one. Professionally speaking he’s reckless and undisciplined, and spent much of his—‘ 

‘And spent much of my time trying to seduce you, Commander, that it became a bit of a joke in the Hanged Man.’ Hawke lounged against the doorframe. 

‘Oh for the love of the Maker,’ muttered Cullen. He put his hand to his forehead to hide the rush of blood to his face. 

Evan laughed out loud. ‘What? Creators! I don’t bloody believe it.’ His hand was on Cullen’s forearm again. 

‘But please, don’t let me stop you, I’d love to hear what else you have to say about me.’ 

‘I’m not going to stroke your ego, and I’m sure the Inquisitor will find out soon enough.’ 

‘I am going to resist making a joke about that. Oh, Cullen.’ Hawke tried to keep a straight face. 

Evan just laughed. ‘Cullen? Is that true? I thought you meant you’d argued or something. I never once thought it was anything like that.’ 

‘You haven’t spoken of me, after everything we went through together? You wound me, Commander.’ 

Cullen folded his arms. ‘Most of that was of your own making, because you wouldn’t listen when I tried to warn you to stay safe. I won’t be part of your ridiculous games, Hawke. If you don’t mind, I have work to do, Inquisitor.’ He looked at Hawke briefly and dropped his gaze. 

Evan looked first at Cullen and then at Hawke who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. 

‘Commander,’ Evan started, putting a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, ‘much as I approve your dedication to duty, I think perhaps I’d like you to both act like adults so the rest of us don’t feel we’re interrupting an ongoing lovers’ tiff.’ 

Cullen shifted slightly, he didn’t want to be touched, he didn’t want the connection, not right now, and certainly not with Hawke watching like he was, but Evan’s hand stayed. He sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Hawke is trying to imply something—‘ 

‘I’m not trying to imply—’ 

‘No smoke without a fire, Commander.’ 

‘Evan, that’s not helping.’ 

Evan smiled brightly and squeezed Cullen’s shoulder. Cullen rolled his shoulder and straightened, trying to ignore the prickle of heat on the back of his neck. 

‘Are you telling me you are happy to work with Hawke, because I am expecting you to, without some sort of understanding being reached? I say this because I’m feeling uncomfortably like I’m intruding on something right now.’ 

Cullen kept his eyes on Evan. ‘You’re not—‘ He blinked to keep his focus, found he was pressing is canines into the soft flesh of his inner lip and willed himself to stop. ‘Fine.’ 

  



	2. The Oldest Virgin

Hawke pushed the door shut behind the Inquisitor as he left. He looked at Cullen who had taken that as a cue to shuffle papers on his desk. 

Cullen wasn’t quite how he’d expected. He had expected the same certainty, that everything he did was right and just. In Kirkwall, it had come across as pompous and brittle. Scared, even. That had changed subtly. And that easy companionship between Cullen and Evan made him smile. He’d never seen Cullen like that with anyone. 

He considered the top of Cullen’s head as the man bent to his work. The chantry upbringing seemed to have loosened its hold a little, though those curls were being waxed into even greater disciplined severity. On the other hand that stubble had to be at least a week old. He certainly seemed to be a little looser, his sharp edges softened, but the waxed hair spoke more of a gauntlet inside a worn velvet glove. 

Unfortunately, he still had that impossible air of innocence and Hawke realised, ruefully, that he still felt an irrational desire to take care of him which, when he considered Cullen was general of an army of about ten thousand men, seemed a little silly. 

He watched him until it became evident the other man wasn’t going to start the conversation. ‘Hello, Cullen.’ 

‘Hawke,’ Cullen replied, without looking up. 

‘He’s a nice lad,’ Hawke said. 

‘The Inquisitor? Yes. From Wycombe. Isn’t that where that crazy mage friend of yours went?’ 

‘Yes.’ He folded his arms, and ignored the dig. ‘Seems so young.’ 

Cullen remained focussed on his paperwork. ‘No younger than you were, than we were, when we first arrived in Kirkwall.’ 

‘True enough. We felt we owned the world back then.’ 

A silence fell, broken only by the sound of parchment being shuffled. Hawke considered Cullen a little longer. He imagined loosening those curls with his fingers, and the thought had him smiling. 

‘Cullen, I can’t help but notice you’re not really engaged in this conversation.’ He moved to the desk and put a hand on the pile of papers Cullen was about to pick up. They looked at each other. ‘I’ve been here three days. Do you really not want to see me? Say now, because I can go if you prefer.’ 

Cullen was silent, before letting the papers rest on the desk. He leaned on his hands and hung his head with a sigh. ‘How long are you here this time, Hawke? And why now, when we could have used your skills countless times against red Templars. You had first-hand experience of the red lyrium. I don’t understand, I can’t understand your reluctance to help.’ 

‘I paid, Cullen. I paid and I paid for twelve years in Kirkwall. Sometimes you have to know when to quit.’ 

*** 

Cullen looked at him with a frown, a long gauging look. He hadn’t changed much. His hair and beard a little longer, a few more laughter lines round his eyes. He’d arrived wearing that armour that was more about image than efficacy, though that was probably the point with Hawke, but Cullen was pleased to see he was now wearing warm clothes and a fur-lined coat. Good Fereldan-made clothes. ‘I know you did. I had just hoped …’ 

‘What?’ 

‘That this might be different. You’re the Champion of Kirkwall, you could have been an advisor, taken a step back, been safe from … what had happened before.’ 

Hawke considered. ‘I didn’t want to be safe.’ 

‘I know.’ Cullen rubbed a gloved hand over his face. ‘I saw plenty of evidence of that in Kirkwall. I had hoped you might come sooner though, stay longer, join us here.’ He paused. ‘Varric missed you.’ 

‘No, I meant I didn’t want to be part of anything to keep me shut away, safe. I needed time.’ 

Cullen looked at him searchingly and then nodded once. ‘So why now?’ 

‘Social call. Strange though it may seem, I do tire of my own company.’ He paused but it didn’t raise a smile from Cullen. ‘And I wanted to catch up with you.’ 

Cullen straightened. ‘I’m trying to feel flattered.’ 

Hawke shrugged. 

Cullen shifted his feet under his gaze. Hawke could be provocative and challenging, but like now he could be unnerving in the way he just observed, his gaze following Cullen’s movements. Cullen shook his head and turned away. ‘I’m not even sure what we’re going to say.’ 

‘Nice to see you Hawke, would be a good start.’ 

‘All that you said to the Inquisitor, implying there was something going on, when there was nothing—‘ 

‘Wasn’t for want of trying.’ 

‘—and you always had someone.’ 

‘So?’ 

‘What did you expect me to do, get in the queue?’ Cullen regretted the remark as soon as he’d said it. 

‘I’m not a bloody monk, Cullen.’ 

‘You could at least deny it!’ Cullen said, aware he had raised his voice but … had Hawke really wanted to see him again? No, that wasn’t a helpful thought. 

If Hawke was taken aback by his outburst he didn’t show it. Cullen had always liked that about him. Realised he’d missed the way Hawke overlooked Cullen’s awkwardness, sifted the meaning from the delivery and never, ever made him feel stupid for saying things in the wrong way. All those times they’d spoken in Kirkwall, and he’d messed up and blushed and felt like an idiot in front of Hawke’s friends and Hawke had just smiled and listened and made it alright. He did that. He made things alright. 

Cullen looked at him stood before him, hands in pockets, a little dishevelled, his black hair unruly, his expression neutral, open. No judgement. 

Hawke sighed. ‘Of course it wasn’t what I expected. I just wanted some acknowledgment, something. I couldn’t see you every day in the Gallows and not say something. Times we played hooky from some function,’ he said, risking a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m human. I wanted—’ 

Cullen turned his head away. Because he knew what Hawke meant. 

‘Was I reading you so wrong?’ 

‘There’s been nothing. You ran away last time, I didn’t get a chance to speak to you before you left. No communication at all. I didn’t even know you were coming this time. I—‘ he stopped and grasped the back of his neck a moment. ‘Why are we even discussing this?’ he sighed. ‘It’s irrelevant.’ He considered his desk a moment, then bent his head back to his paperwork. 

Hawke took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The only sounds were the noises from the training yard below, and the occasional crinkle of paper in Cullen’s hands. Hawke scuffed his boots on the floor. ‘It really was a joke in the Hanged Man that I was repeatedly turned down by the oldest virgin in Kirkwall.’ 

‘Oldest—‘ Cullen looked up. ‘I’m not—’ But stopped when he saw Hawke’s smirk. ‘You know I had been doing Meredith’s job as well as my own for those last three years. Maker’s bloody breath,’ but he couldn’t entirely hide the smile. 

‘You could have used me as stress relief,’ Hawke said. 

‘Fuck off,’ Cullen said quietly, and turned away abruptly. He leaned on the wall and looked out through the window and let his breathing deepen to calm the tightness across his chest. The silence stretched for a few moments. ‘So you wanted to see me again.’ 

Hawke moved round the desk to lean on the opposite side of the window recess. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ 

Cullen kept his gaze on the horizon. ‘I take it then, that somewhere there is a very large bet riding on me not turning you down this time.’ 

Hawke was silent for a while before he replied. Cullen could see him looking at him out of the corner of his eye. ‘What have I ever done to make you think that?’ 

Despite the lack of armour, the image, he was still the man they’d made Viscount. He still had that charisma even while wearing uncharismatic Fereldan homespun and furs. Cullen felt a tug, as if he was on a leash, to step closer, but instead he shook his head. 

Hawke was right, he’d done nothing to make Cullen question his friendship. He wished he could take the words back but Hawke was looking at him and he felt he needed to mitigate the blunder, to make it less of the insult he was realising it was. ‘I’m assuming you like a challenge,’ he said. Hawke smiled slightly as he shook his head. The silence stretched until Cullen said, ‘I’m sorry, that was unfair of me.’ 

‘Apology accepted.’ Hawke cast a look out of the window before turning back to Cullen. ‘This turned out a little more intense than I imagined.’ He walked back round the desk. ‘Perhaps … What do you say to a pint later? Let’s catch up properly.’ 

Cullen turned to look out of the window. Talking to Hawke sometimes left him feeling like he was scrambling to catch up. He pressed his eyes closed briefly and tried not to frown but felt it pulling between his eyebrows. Breathe, he reminded himself. ‘Alright,’ he said. 

  



	3. A Pint in the Rest

The Herald’s Rest was busy that evening; snatches of conversation filled the air and warmth seeped into Cullen’s fingers and toes. A serving girl nodded at him with a smile as she swayed carefully around the balcony carrying several pints on a tray to a table of noisy recruits further along. He watched smoke curl into the rafters from the smoky fire below, and caught snippets of Maryden’s bawdy song about mages and their staffs. 

He sat upstairs in a corner with two pints of the landlord’s homebrewed ale before him, blessedly comfortable out of his working armour. A pint, a quick chat and he could get on with his job. 

Hawke was a bloody ass, turning up now. He’d refused to be part of the Inquisition. What the hell did he think he was playing at? He sighed and watched as Hawke came up the stairs looking for him. He smiled as he saw Cullen. 

‘Sorry I’m late. Evan can talk for Thedas when he wants to share.’ Hawke shrugged off his coat and slid onto the bench next to Cullen. The snowflakes that had caught on his beard and hair melted to droplets. 

‘This mine?’ he asked, picking up one of the glasses and taking a sip when Cullen nodded. ‘You look naked out of that armour.’ 

Cullen sighed. ‘If that’s how the conversation is going to go I’m leaving now.’ 

‘I was merely making the point that I have hardly ever seen you without a layer of plate armour between you and the rest of the world, but it seems you have to lower the tone every time,’ said Hawke with a grin. 

‘Do you have to make everything—‘ Cullen stopped when he saw Hawke’s face, made a placating gesture and sat with his arms folded. 

‘You don’t need to react to everything, ’Hawke said, leaning back, pushing his long legs out before him. ‘Fen did too. You remind me of him.’ 

‘I’m nothing like that elf.’ 

‘You’d be surprised. You were both after the same thing.’ 

‘I’m not going to rise to that.’ 

‘Purpose, Cullen. Something to believe in. Fen had his lyrium markings but the memory of the purpose was stripped away from him. He was full of anger and bitterness when I met him. You couldn’t remain a Templar. Same loss, same search.’ 

‘What happened to him?’ 

‘Went back to Tevinter. With his master dead he wanted to help other slaves.’ 

‘Noble cause. Bit of a thankless task in Tevinter though.’ 

Hawke shrugged. ‘He has some backing, quietly, as I understand, from a couple of big houses.’ He looked at Cullen holding his pint between them like a barrier. ‘I went straight to Weisshaupt after I left here last time, which was a mess, I presume you read the report I sent. Then I went back to Kirkwall for a bit and caught up with some people. Aveline is still Guard Captain and running the place. You remember her?’ 

‘Yes, I liked her.’ 

‘I’ve moved around a bit since, and here I am. How about you?’ 

‘Cass asked me to join the Inquisition after you left; here I am.’ Cullen said. ‘And you’re right. The Order was no longer an answer to any of my questions or needs. I left everything behind when I came here.’ 

‘That’s quite a statement.’ 

‘When I said I left everything behind, I meant the lyrium too.’ He met Hawke’s long questioning gaze unflinchingly. He was a tiny bit proud of himself. 

‘Is that safe? What happened?’ 

‘I stopped taking it,’ Cullen said simply after a moment, feeling inexplicably shy. 

Hawke didn’t reply, he just waited. Finally Cullen leaned back against the wall, his knee bumping Hawke’s as he shifted. Neither of them made any effort to move away. The warmth of the contact was a little heady. Just feeling the warmth of another person was a novelty to Cullen. 

He tried to keep his knee from jigging and betraying his tension. ‘I saw too many Templars lose their minds to it. Begging in the streets—’ 

‘I remember Samson.’ 

‘We failed him. It could so easily have been me.’ He stared at the pint on the table and forced himself to keep his hands from knotting in his lap. He reached out and wiped the condensation from the side of the glass. ‘Lyrium is the Order. I didn’t want it to be who I was anymore,’ he said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice because he was over this by now, surely. 

But Hawke just nodded. ‘Brave,’ he said. 

Cullen laughed and shook his head. ‘Some days I was climbing the walls in desperation.’ He remembered the begging, the pleading, sometimes his voice had been hoarse with it, with the tears and rage. ‘But it was my choice.’ 

Hawke nodded. ‘Choice is everything. What’s it like for you now?’ 

‘I feel freer than I have ever done. I hadn’t really chosen anything since I joined.’ 

‘I know. Thirteen year old kid, leaving his home for good. It’s no life, Cullen.’ 

‘Same for child mages. Taken from their families. At least mine was a choice.’ 

‘At least you recognise that now.’ 

Cullen said nothing. The statement didn’t need a reply. 

‘I’m assuming giving up hasn’t been easy.’ 

‘Nothing worthwhile is,’ Cullen said with a small smile. 

‘You’re not wrong. Can I …?’ he leant forwards and Cullen kept still as Hawke’s breath brushed his cheek. It was too slow and sensuous to be anything but a little flirty. ‘I can’t smell any on you at all,’ Hawke said quietly and then straightened. ‘How long has it been?’ 

‘Eighteen months or so.’ Eighteen months, three weeks and four days. ‘I still get withdrawal symptoms. They used to be worse. I’d be in bed for hours just wishing I was dead ... and sometimes I get nightmares but I think people have got used to me, and someone comes and sits with me if it’s really bad,’ he said with a small laugh. ‘I’m a real catch.’ 

‘Don’t do that.’ 

‘What? Tell the truth?’ 

Hawke shook his head. ‘That’s not the truth and you know it. Evan said you were the most stoic, unflappable person he’s ever met. Except when he flirted with you once, apparently.’ 

‘Don’t remind me.’ 

Hawke laughed then paused. ‘I am having trouble thinking of you without your Templar abilities. That time we fought what was his name on the coast. Wilmod?’ 

Cullen nodded. 

‘And when you rather enthusiastically cleansed the area you managed to get both Merrill and me as well. Made it an interesting fight for a while.’ 

Cullen could feel him looking at him, and felt the heat rise in his cheeks. ‘I only used it when I had to. I tried to be fair, Hawke.’ 

‘True enough.’ Hawke tipped his head and smiled. ‘I like it. It makes you more real.’ 

‘I was scared for a while afterwards. It was like losing who I was.’ 

‘Or rediscovering who you are.’ 

Cullen nodded briefly and tried to keep his face as neutral as he could. He even felt a tiny bit proud of himself when he hardly flinched as Hawke gently put his hand on his thigh. A moment passed while Cullen studiously looked everywhere but down and his head felt like it was floating free. 

‘Is this ok?’ 

Cullen considered. He took a slow breath to stop the sudden fizzing in his head, and looked down at Hawke’s hand against his dark breeches. 

He trailed his fingers over Hawke’s, and felt a little lightheaded, but he didn’t want it to stop. It felt … good; it felt reassuring and affirming. Hawke was stroking a little circle with his thumb. Cullen blinked at the sensation rising up his spine and into the back of his head. ‘It’s … yes, it’s—‘ he cleared his throat. ‘Nice, actually.’ 

They sat in silence a moment and Cullen slowly relaxed. He cradled his pint, every part of him aware of Hawke’s hand on his thigh. 

Hawke stilled, then slowly stroked Cullen’s thigh, spreading his fingers, watching his own hand. The air seemed to thicken. Cullen tipped his head away from Hawke, unable to look, his eyelids flickering, his insides fluttering. 

Hawke sipped his pint and glanced round the tavern and the moment evaporated. ‘Despite what everyone else thought, I didn’t think you’d taken vows.’ 

‘When you say everyone …’ 

Hawke resumed making small circles with is thumb, squeezing gently. ‘There was quite a lot of talk about the dashing young Knight-Captain. You had admirers.’ 

‘I don’t believe you,’ Cullen laughed and dragged his attention from the hand on his thigh. Maker, he was worse than a chantry mother. 

‘As one of your admirers I would know.’ 

‘I know about the thing at the Blooming Rose. It doesn’t count.’ 

‘What thing? I only went there twice.’ 

‘Well you don’t need to know. And I don’t need to know what you did there either.’ 

‘It was business both times. Honestly. I hate to disabuse you of your debauched fantasies of me, Cullen, but I wasn’t the—‘ 

‘Debauched fantasy?’ Cullen snorted into his pint. 

Hawke squeezed his leg and laughed. ‘Why not? I had several about you. Want to hear one?’ 

‘Maker, no,’ Cullen laughed. 

‘Well then, deal. Tell me the name of your first lover and I promise not to share the one—‘ 

‘Alright! Fine. I don’t need details.’ He hoped he sounded appalled but his throat closed on the words and he sounded nothing but a little flustered. His mind was supplying all sorts of images … Hawke wanted him … he remembered times he’d thought about Hawke, and the heat rose in his chest. Secret thoughts in the dormitory, the sound of other Templars sleeping, snoring, turning in sleep and sometimes the small cot he slept in had been too small and too hot and confining and he’d thought of Hawke— 

Hawke squeezed Cullen’s thigh in response to Cullen’s silence. ‘So, who deflowered you, Commander? I’m all agog.’ 

‘Deflowered me?’ Cullen asked with a chuckle, the tension releasing at the ridiculousness of the words. ‘Are you serious?’ The hand on his thigh gave a another little squeeze and he hesitated. It was seductive and reassuring, that touch. It pulled all his senses towards it, and warmth flowed from it, curling like a vine up his leg, up to his crotch and his lower back. He put a hand over Hawke’s and stilled the movement because it was a little too much, letting go only when Hawke had got the message to keep his hand still. 

A moment passed. ‘Well?’ 

‘Who was your first lover?’ Cullen said. 

‘Ok, we’ll trade. She was a lovely girl from just outside Lothering called Marla who was the daughter of one of the regular market traders. I remember her hair smelled of dried herbs because she travelled in the back of her father’s wagon. I couldn’t smell rosemary without thinking of sex for years afterwards.’ 

Cullen chuckled. ‘Are you …?’ Cullen started to say, then paused. How did you ask? He knew he was himself. But he couldn’t just say like me, could he? 

‘Am I …?’ Hawke prompted. 

Cullen cleared his throat. The prickle at the back of his neck made him want to lift his hand, but he stayed still and wished he hadn’t started the question. ‘It’s both for me. Maker, this is hard to talk about.’ He risked a glance at Hawke, who for some inexplicable reason was smiling. ‘What’s so funny?’ 

‘It wasn’t funny. Just enjoying watching you learning to be you.’ Hawke squeezed his thigh. ‘And yes, both for me too.’ Hawke tilted his head. ‘This is a proper heart to heart isn’t it? And I still want to know who your first lover was.’ 

‘A Templar at Kinloch if you must know.’ 

‘Name?’ 

The walls of the tavern felt like they were leaning in. The darkness of the corner seat he’d chosen didn’t feel the safe warm place anymore, it felt exactly what it was, a corner and he’d left himself nowhere to run. 

‘Annlise.’ He rubbed his hand down his leg, his palms suddenly sweaty. ‘ She was a friend. A good friend. She … didn’t survive— I don’t want to talk about this, I’m sorry.’ 

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So, Evan’s idea that I help train the recruits.’ 

‘Hawke.’ 

‘You know I could.’ 

Cullen sat upright and put his drink down. The warm feelings were evaporating. ‘I know you could, but when we needed you, you couldn’t leave fast enough. I understand why. I do, and I’m very happy you’re here, Hawke, but I said earlier. Just as I get used to it you’ll leave.’ 

Hawke stilled his hand and Cullen instantly missed the smooth circling of his thumb, but he had spoken his mind. He would stick with it. 

Hawke was watching him closely. ‘Are you saying you’d miss me?’ 

Cullen lifted his pint glass and drained it. He placed it again carefully, avoiding eye contact. ‘I’m not even going to answer that.’ 

‘Bloody hell, Cullen.’ The quiet wonder in Hawke’s voice had Cullen squirming. 

‘Why aren’t you in Tevinter with your boyfriend then?’ 

The circling on his thigh resumed, and he felt a wave of pleasure roll through his body at the sensation, but kept his face neutral. The man had enough ego without him fuelling it. 

‘I told you. We were friends, nothing more, Cullen.’ 

‘Oh please. I saw the way he looked at you.’ 

‘He was seeing Isabela. Why did he bother you so much? You turned me down remember …’ He stopped and smiled. ‘And I’ve just realised that you turned that conversation right round. No wonder they made you Commander of this damned army.’ 

Cullen tried to hide his smile. Hawke slid his hand further round between his thighs, his fingers still, as his gaze flicked down to Cullen’s mouth and he traced with one finger the scar that that cut into Cullen’s top lip. ‘I’m sorry Carver hit you. You should have let me heal it.’ 

‘What I said hurt you.’ 

They were silent. Hawke’s finger lingered against Cullen’s mouth, tracing the outline. ‘I want to kiss you,’ he said quietly. 

Cullen hesitated. His thoughts fell to nothing, his breath stilled. He’d imagined this so often that to hear it spoken aloud was as if he’d taken a shot of undilute lyrium. He wanted to, so much but, but … ‘It feels too much right now,’ Cullen whispered, catching Hawke’s fingers in his. ‘I need to get back. I need to get some paperwork to Leliana.’ 

Hawke nodded. They stayed still looking at each other for a moment, and then the barman downstairs sounded twelve bells. Hawke shook his head and huffed a laugh. ‘Sod it. I have to be up early.’ He moved back from Cullen and smiled as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. ‘Varric and I are off to Jader for a few days.’ 

‘I don’t want to know,’ Cullen said with a smile as he slid out of the bench to stand beside Hawke. They tugged on their coats as they walked downstairs and into the freezing night air together, their breath clouding around them, their boots creaking in the new snow. 

‘I really enjoyed this evening,’ Hawke said, turning towards Cullen, his hands pushed into his pockets. ‘Can I tempt you into doing it again?’ 

‘I’d like that. I’ve known you for so long, but I think we’ve only talked a couple of times.’ 

Hawke leant forwards and gave Cullen a quick kiss on the cheek, which was over in a second even as Hawke held his gaze afterwards. 

‘Night Cullen.’ Hawke walked away, and then turned, walking backwards with a hand raised and a smile on his face. Cullen raised a hand in reply, then turned and walked away and tried to think about last minute reports for Leliana. 

  



	4. Moving On (Part I)

A few days later, Hawke stood beside Evan and looked down over the courtyard from Evan’s quarters. Noises from the training exercises rose up to them. 

They’d eaten a late breakfast and chatted. Dorian had left them earlier to go and write letters and Hawke had watched him and the Inquisitor with just a little envy at what they had, as they touched and smiled their way through breakfast and Dorian’s leaving. He remembered mornings like that with someone, sometimes. 

Cullen’s voice came up to them from the yard below, hard and confident. He listened. He liked Cullen’s voice. He liked those flat Fereldan vowels that sometimes crept in. 

Hawke smiled. Cullen’s awkward sexiness was intriguing. He’d practically jumped when Hawke had touched him, though he’d touched him right back which had given Hawke a bit of hope. 

But nothing was simple anymore, like it had been in Kirkwall. Time and memories saw to that. Then it had been anything pleasurable to offset the grinding downward spiral of violence and fear. Now, he wanted time and understanding. Something real. It certainly wasn’t something he’d envisioned himself doing, coming all this way again to this Maker-forsaken Hold on a mountain for anything else. Yes, it was great spending time with Varric, but he knew Varric would be back in Kirkwall soon. It was Cullen and it was unnerving. He frowned. 

Evan said something and he turned. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ 

‘You alright?’ 

‘Yes, I was just thinking.’ 

‘I said, Cullen seems to be okay with you being around. He said you’d had a good chat in the tavern.’ 

‘I think him being okay with it is overstating it a little.’ 

‘Oh?’ 

‘We sorted a few things out and we left with a few new things to think about.’ 

Evan smiled but didn’t ask. They turned back to watch the figures on the training field below. ‘He’s good,’ Evan said with admiration. ‘They’re completely loyal to him, he seems to inspire it.’ 

‘Definitely has something about him.’ 

Evan looked at him a moment. ‘Do they all take vows, Templars?’ 

‘Yes, but they don’t all take a vow of celibacy.’ 

‘Did Cullen?’ 

Hawke shook his head. 

‘You really like him, don’t you?’ 

Hawke gave a brief laugh. ‘I’m very fond of him, shall we say. We saw a fair bit of each other in Kirkwall.’ 

‘Even though you’re a mage?’ 

‘Hmm. I managed to make the right friends to stay out of the Circle.’ 

Evan nodded. ‘I’ve heard tales. Most of them originating from Varric I presume,’ he laughed. 

‘My greatest publicist.’ 

‘I’m dying to ask. Was it true? About him turning you down?’ 

Hawke chuckled. ‘Yes. He would just smile every time I flirted, not in a bad way, but certainly not in a particularly encouraging way either it must be said. He’d blush and fuss about something and change the subject.’ He smiled at Evan’s raised eyebrows. ‘I think he thought I was joking and didn’t want to upset the scary apostate.’ 

‘Was it just fun or were you hoping something would get through?’ 

Hawke didn’t reply. He just smiled and leaned his elbows on the stone balustrade. 

‘Bit of both?’ Evan pushed. 

‘It was years ago, Evan. We were younger, I had no ties, no desire to be settled. Maybe if things had been different.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, I’m fairly sure Anders would have tried to kill him if anything had worked out.’ 

‘Anders who blew up the chantry?’ 

‘Anders who blew up the chantry, yes.’ 

‘Blond guy, pony tail. Liked cats.’ 

‘Yes, he was up near you in Wycombe for a while, I believe.’ 

‘It was him, then. He got a bit of a reputation as a healer. Locals knew him. We traded with him, herbs and so on.’ 

‘Was he alright?’ 

‘Seemed to be. Quiet. Kept himself to himself.’ 

They stood quietly for a few minutes, the sound of fighting drifting up to them. 

‘So if you hadn’t have been a mage, do you think Cullen might have taken you seriously? Maybe ...’ Evan waggled his head suggestively, ‘…got it together.’ 

Hawke shook his head. ‘Not then. Though if anyone needed to unwind it was him.’ 

Evan chuckled. ‘Wouldn’t hurt now.’ He paused and teased at a bit of lichen on the stone. ‘Y’know, it wouldn’t surprise me if he left soon.’ 

‘You’re kidding.’ 

Evan shook his head. ‘Corypheus is gone, we’re a peace-keeping force, which is fine. Still so much to do, but I get the feeling his debt is paid. He still has family I think?’ 

‘Yes in South Reach.’ 

‘Maybe you should bear that in mind.’ 

‘He’s said that to you? About leaving?’ 

‘No, but you know when someone is losing focus, when something else in taking up headspace? He’s like that. Like the First gets when it’s time to move the aravells on.’ 

Hawke nodded slowly. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ 

Evan smiled and clapped Hawke on the shoulder. ‘What can I say? I like a happy ending.’ 

  



	5. In the Ring

It was just over a week since they’d had a drink together in the tavern. Hawke had returned from his trip and Cullen had decided not to enquire even when they’d bumped into each other a couple of times afterwards and chatted a little, smiled and Hawke had touched his arm or his shoulder, always touching, and they’d gone on their ways. 

After being reminded strongly by Evan, Cullen had assigned Hawke to working with a group of recruits who’d never come up against mages. 

There was a lot of noise from the courtyard, where Hawke was supposed to be working with them now. Cullen looked out of his doorway distractedly, a pile of partly sorted papers in his hand. The noise of a gathering crowd around the training ring was getting louder. He watched a moment, lowering his hands as he squinted. What was he doing? 

Bull was in the ring. Some sort of wrestling match from what Cullen could see. He went back inside, put the papers back on the desk and made his way along the battlements to see better. He leant on the stonework. 

And sighed as another man joined Bull. Hawke, of course. In the ring, no armour or staff, just breeches and boots in the sunny, chill morning. He and Bull circled each other before blows began to land. 

Cullen rubbed his hand over his face and shook his head. He toyed with the idea of stopping it, but one look at the crowd and the pieces of money that were being passed around made him realise he stood about as much chance of holding the tides back. 

He went back to his tower and shut the doors firmly. 

*** 

‘Hit me,’ Hawke growled. 

‘Hit you, little man? I’ll kill you if I do.’ 

Hawke ducked his head a moment, wiped the sweat that was trickling down his brow. ‘I don’t think so.’ 

‘You had your magic against him. Against me, you’re naked.’ 

‘You get people to hit you so you hurt, because you can’t deal with your demons. You need it. I need it.’ 

‘Oh that’s low, Hawke.’ 

Hawke didn’t reply, just wiped the sweat from his brow again. 

Bull grinned. ‘I can take you apart, Champion,’ he said his title slowly and deliberately. Soldiers leaning against the ring fence laughed who heard it, and Hawke stifled a grin. ‘If that’s what you want.’ 

Hawke huffed a laugh. ‘Seriously, Bull, I can get that anytime I want. Right now I want you to shut the fuck up and fight me.’ They were circling lazily, weighing each other up. Bull’s eyebrow raised a little, and a gleam came into his eye. 

Suddenly Bull rushed him. Hawke had expected his speed. The Arishok had been the hardest fight of his life and Bull was right. He had no magic, no healing. Nothing, just his own body and he wanted a fight. He wanted to be tired, he wanted his body to be screaming and his mind to be empty and to feel some fucking sort of absolution because whatever he did had been meaningless and this, this emptiness, meant something. 

He sidestepped at the last moment, but Bull had anticipated it and flung an arm out to grab him. His fingers slipped on his skin but curled and pushed and Hawke found himself off balance, and he stumbled, losing a precious few seconds. His weight went onto his back leg and he curled forwards instinctively, coming up at Bull as he turned, thrusting up with his shoulder, his arms braced and … Maker what the hell was the man made of? It was like hitting a wall. He felt tension across his belly and the urge to laugh it away bubbled up in his throat before he caught it. 

He heard Bull grunt before he pushed off him, but the qunari was faster and grabbed him round the neck, pulling him flush against his body, one arm round his neck, the other hand pushing his right arm perilously close to dislocation. 

‘There’s gold changing hands out there, but I think this is a rigged fight,’ said Bull in a soft voice, so that no-one could hear. ‘I think you need something.’ 

‘You talk too much,’ Hawke said between gritted teeth. He kicked back with his booted foot, the heel connecting with Bull’s shin above his boot. Bull dodged back easily, lessening the blow but left himself open to Hawke’s elbow under his left arm and he grunted again, releasing Hawke who stumbled forwards from the sudden movement. He tripped forwards and righted himself, turned quickly and made a lunge for Bull’s legs, aiming hard for the spot he’d kicked, grinding his knee against it. ‘Fereldans are all the damn same,’ the Bull chuckled and simply reached down, hoisted Hawke and fell forwards, taking him with him. 

Something cracked and pain splintered in his brain. He let out a sharp gasp and felt the air whoosh out of his lungs at the same time. He willed his body to breathe again, pushing against the burning in his spine where Bull’s knee held him. The qunari leaned forwards on one hand beside his head, the other hand slid round his head like a lover’s, cupping his chin, pulling his head up. ‘This is too easy. Tell me what’s going on, or I walk away.’ 

Hawke’s throat burned in that position, his head hard back. His vision went a bit woozy as the blood supply to his brain was slowly restricted where Bull held his head. ‘Maker take you, just fight.’ 

The hand under his chin tightened and the burn spread to the back of his neck. ‘Talk, or I walk.’ 

Hawke concentrated on breathing for a moment. The sounds around the sparring ring were falling away, he tasted blood in his mouth where his teeth had snapped together and caught his cheek as he’d fallen. ‘If you’re going to fight fairly and this won’t be just me hitting you till you pass out and you’ve got yourself a match.’ 

‘Finally,’ Hawke managed to say. 

‘You are going to fight back, yes?’ 

‘Yes!’ Hawke’s voice rose reedily. 

‘Promise,’ the Bull insisted. ‘There are people out there with money riding on this and I don’t want them to go without a good show.’ 

Hawke managed a chuckle between clenched teeth. ‘I fucking promise, alright .’ 

‘Good. Now we can fight.’ 

There was a slight shift in Bull’s weight as he moved and Hawke took that tiny slip to roll and kick out, taking Bull by surprise and toppling him as he went. The qunari went down hard, but rolled and was back on his feet in the same time it took Hawke to right himself. 

He shook his head, the blood rushing back to his brain making him see stars. He shook his head again and met the Bull’s run at him, his feet skidding backwards. He pushed. He pushed, with every nerve in his legs and lower back screaming at him to stop and it felt almost a relief to feel the swing and thud as Bull’s loose fist connected with his cheek, snapping his head back. 

The qunari went for another swing and Hawke raised his hand to catch the fist in his, dulling the blow, diverting it so it dragged down the side of his head. But Bull was an opportunistic fighter and followed through, using the momentum to tackle Hawke round the waist before pinning him to the fence. Spectators scattered. A couple of women squealed in the crowd, and called Hawke’s name. 

Hawke brought his knee up, towards Bull’s missing eye, but swore as Bull caught his leg and pushed, laughing. ‘Come on Champion, you’ve got more than this,’ Bull growled. 

Hawke rolled away, but Bull was fast and moved with him, and threw a punch. It landed on his shoulder. Another punch, his upper arm. Maker, the man was strong. Pain bloomed outwards from his shoulder and he fought the urge to curl into a ball and take it because that’s what he wanted. 

He made himself intercept the next blow and felt the familiar grinding pop of breaking bones in his fingers. The need to wretch shafted through him but he pushed himself up, under a blow to his back and turned, his anger up. Not at Bull, not at the pain, but at his own weakness and fucking uselessness and he threw himself at Bull, wrapping his arms round the man, pummelling with his good fist. 

‘Come on, Champ,’ Bull said ‘you might even win this,’ and Hawke couldn’t hold a laugh in, and Bull chuckled. 

Bull’s elbow to the back of his head nearly floored him and his hold on Bull became more about hanging on than tackling him, and the blow to the same shoulder dragged a cry from him as he felt the bones grind. The searing pain drowned out the sounds of the crowd completely then. He caught his leg around Bull’s and pushed, hoping to topple the man, and it succeeded, but Bull was canny and held on tight, pulling Hawke down on top of him. He wrapped his legs around Hawke’s and twisted them together. 

Hawke reared up as his lower back wrenched, and his thighs ground together, the pounding of trapped nerves and squashed muscles making his vision swim. He pushed away with both hands before dropping a head-butt into Bull’s face. ‘You little shit,’ the Bull exclaimed, his words laced with delight and he tried to catch Hawke’s hands as he pressed the heel of his right hand against the patch over Bull’s ruined eye. Bull grumbled and caught the other hand, the hand Hawke was favouring, caught it by the wrist and pulled Hawke up his body, closer. Hawke whimpered with pain before he could stop himself. 

‘Dirty,’ the Bull said with a smile. ‘Y’know, Hawke, this might be fun without an audience, if you take my meaning. I could make you feel all sorts of things you want to feel.’ 

Briefly he wanted that. Wanted something more than he was getting, a dark place where pain could wash away everything. Far more efficient than going a round in the ring, given what he’d heard about Bull’s reputation. 

Hawke swallowed, aware of all the points that Bull had him by as pain flared like fireworks under his skin and in his head. He managed a weak smile. 

Pain only did so much and he needed it today but next week he would be alright and the week after. It wasn’t what he needed long term. He just needed it now and he pushed against Bull’s chest again, his hand sliding over the man’s muscled torso, until his fingers brushed a tight grey nipple. He paused, keeping his face neutral. 

Yes he wanted to lose this fight, he wanted the beating because he deserved it, but he also wanted … he was the fucking Champion of Kirkwall, and inside he laughed at that name and how he’d railed against it given to him as it was by a crazy woman, and how it was now bubbling up as his inspiration. ‘Not for me, Bull, but thanks for the offer,’ he said and raked his nails over softer puckered skin. 

‘Ow, ow, you little bitch,’ Bull roared as Hawke scrambled to his feet, amazed yet again at the delight and interest that loaded the qunari’s words. ‘Varric warned me you were a dirty fighter.’ He lay for a moment rubbing at the broken skin, as Hawke stood and nursed his left hand. He didn’t dare move the fingers, so used his forearm to wipe blood that had trickled into his eye. 

‘Let’s finish this,’ Hawke said. 

‘You aren’t telling me you’ve had enough,’ the qunari said as he rose to his feet. 

Hawke shook his head, his ears ringing at the movement. ‘Cullen will kill me if I end up in the infirmary,’ he grinned. 

‘You’re going anyway,’ said Bull easily. This time he just kept walking and Hawke realised just how small a sparring ring could be as he bared his teeth to hold back the scream at the pain in his shoulder. He swiped at Bull as he came for him, and Bull stumbled but stumbled forwards. ‘Blind spot,’ grunted Hawke. 

‘I know.’ 

The stumble became a lunge and Hawke twisted but found that his good arm was now pinned behind him, Bull’s elbow in the small of his back pushing his chest out, one of his feet caught by Bull’s leg. 

‘Sloppy. What happens now?’ Bull’s words were hot against the back of his neck. 

‘Finish it.’ 

‘I don’t just hit people when I’ve won.’ 

‘Come on, just make it final.’ The burn in his back was becoming a rolling, living thing. 

‘Fight back then,’ Bull said so softly he had to strain his ears to catch the last word. 

‘I need the medic. I know my limits.’ 

‘And yet here you are asking me to hit you. I presume you mean unconscious.’ 

‘I’m feeling pleasantly fuzzy. Won’t take much.’ 

‘Cullen’s the fucking same. Likes an ending,’ and Hawke could feel the smile against his skin. ‘You sure you don’t get off on this?’ 

Hawke shook his head and winced. 

‘That’s a shame.’ 

‘I deserve it.’ 

‘If you say so. This is a bit of a stalemate, Hawke. The audience is getting restless.’ 

‘Maker,’ Hawke sighed. He could hear the clapping and cheers, his name being called and the stamping and whooping of a crowd wanting even more blood. Sweat ran into his eye and stung the cuts. 

His head was heavy, the grey fog was eating away at his vision. The pain in his left arm was gnawing into him hard and it was so hard to focus on because it hurt like fucking hell, but at the same time so hard to tear his focus away.What the hell did the man want? ‘I …’ he started. Then stopped. Alright. He let himself soften and slump a little. Bull’s hold shifted, tightened. ‘Fuck,’ Hawke groaned. 

‘Come on, you’ve got it in you,’ Bull said softly as a lover in his ear. ‘The people want a show, not some bullshit punishment thing.’ 

Hawke let his head sag forward and then tensed and brought his head back hard and sharp and sudden and felt his skull connect with bone and Maker that was all he had because he lost hold of the last wispy fog of awareness and passed out. 

  



	6. Tending Wounds

Cullen glanced up as Hawke came in through his tower door and quickly looked away. He’d expected it, and had seen far worse, but he felt the shock like a thump to his chest and sucked a slow breath in. After a moment he said, ‘I don’t understand you.’ 

‘Sorry, did you just say Hawke, that looks painful, are you ok?’ 

‘No.’ Cullen folded his arms and straightened, looking at Hawke with a frown. ‘May I ask why you still need to be the bloody hero?’ There was a cut above Hawke’s right eye, and a purple bruise was appearing on his cheek. His left arm was strapped to his body, holding it immobile. The fingers on his left hand were bound together. He saw plenty of injuries. He’d had similar himself, but it hurt to see Hawke like this. He met his gaze. ‘Why?’ 

Hawke shook his head and moved restlessly about the room touching things idly. ‘Merrill had one of those,’ he said, touching a carving of a halla, letting his fingers run down the length of its spine. He let his hand drop, moved away. He flicked the edge of the map pinned to the desk, holding it flat a moment then letting it go; finally he stopped in front of Cullen. ‘I’m so tired,’ he said and sighed. ‘Reminds me I’m only human, alright?’ 

‘You need that reminder, do you?’ It was a genuine question, though he heard it coming out a little more sarcastically than he’d intended. Close up Cullen could see where the medic’s magic had started to knit the skin, brought out the dark purple of the bruise. He wanted to … soothe it all away, take it, whatever it was that had made Hawke feel the need to hurt so much. 

He let his gaze wander over the tired, familiar, bloodied face, and felt like he was on the edge of somewhere steep; feeling the way he did when the wind rushed up and took his breath away on the battlements, and he felt like he’d passed some threshold when he hesitantly reached out and pushed Hawke’s hair back from his face, enjoying the feeling of the dark, silky, messy hair between his fingers. ‘You’re an idiot,’ he said gently. 

Hawke turned his face into Cullen’s hand. ‘I’ve been called worse.’ 

Cullen slid his hand down Hawke’s unmarked cheek, and leant forwards and kissed the corner of his mouth. 

Hawke looked at him for a moment when he moved away, a smile playing on his lips. Then shook his head slowly. ‘Don’t you fight sometimes? Just put down the weapon and fight?’ Hawke looked round. ‘Mind if I sit?’ he asked and Cullen shook his head and moved the stacks of papers, watching as Hawke sat gingerly, leaned back, winced and sat forwards again. 

‘Sometimes. But I don’t let my opponent take me to pieces quite so thoroughly.’ He’d noticed how Hawke had favoured one side. ‘Bruised ribs?’ 

‘Hmm.’ 

‘How many broken fingers?’ 

‘Three.’ 

‘Why?’ Cullen asked again. 

‘It felt good.’ 

Cullen nodded. ‘I used to feel something like that after Kinloch. That after everything I was still alive.’ He leant back against the desk, not willing to probe that memory too deeply. ‘You could have gone anywhere. Fereldan.’ 

‘For what?’ 

‘Malcolm’s family? Saved you from needing to do this to yourself.’ 

‘I hardly know them. You don’t believe I wanted to see you?’ 

Cullen held his gaze a moment before looking away. 

‘I wanted to see what this Inquisition had that managed to tempt you away from Kirkwall,’ Hawke said with a smile, reaching out and taking Cullen’s fingers in his loosely. 

Cullen smoothed his fingers over the back of Hawke’s, feeling a sudden smile pull at his lips at how pleasurable this little contact was and how right it felt and that this ability to be close, to be there for someone else, had been inside him all this time but that it took Hawke, wrapped in bandages and pain to reveal it. ‘I admit leaving Kirkwall was a terrible wrench,’ he said after a moment. 

Hawke laughed and winced at the same time. ‘A real wrench. Though I admit I have a soft spot for the place. It could be so much more than it is.’ 

‘Varric speaks of it like the Golden City.’ 

Hawke nodded. ‘He’ll be Viscount, mark my words.’ 

‘And you?’ 

‘I don’t want to be Viscount. I couldn’t leave fast enough. I can’t imagine wanting that burden back again.’ He let go of Cullen’s fingers and leaned back gingerly, winced but settled. 

‘I have some elfroot tea somewhere. Want some?’ Hawke nodded and Cullen fussed and made the tea in silence. He handed it to Hawke who took it with murmured thanks. 

‘I spoke to Evan about you.’ 

‘Oh?’ Cullen had turned back to his desk. 

‘He thinks you’re going to leave.’ 

Cullen didn’t reply immediately. Instead he unrolled a chart and caught it at the edges with a couple of candlesticks and mug. He straightened and looked down at it in silence for a moment. ‘It has occurred to me.’ 

‘And?’ 

‘And what?’ 

‘Have you made plans?’ 

He shook his head. 

Hawke blew on his tea and said nothing. 

‘There’s still a lot to be done here. Still rifts that need closing, still refugees that need taking care of, still half of Thedas needs a boot up the arse.’ 

‘Is it your job anymore?’ 

Cullen looked at Hawke nursing his tea. 

‘Do we ever just stop, Cullen?’ He sipped his tea again and pulled a face. ‘What time do you finish up here?’ 

‘I never finish. I just stop every once in a while to sleep and eat,’ Cullen said with a smile. ‘You hungry?’ 

‘Not really. Just wondered if you come and get a drink with me.’ 

‘Of course I will. Let me finish this,’ Cullen said without turning. ‘Why didn’t you come to me? 

‘Would you fight me?’ 

Cullen hesitated before answering. Yes of course … was his immediate response, quickly amended to … of course not, I would have talked and listened and tried to tell you that you didn’t need to and other such nonsense when I have given myself up in the ring and felt nothing after the first few blows because that’s what it takes sometimes. ‘I admit I would have tried to talk you out of it.’ 

‘There you go then. Varric suggested I fight Bull because sometimes you fight Bull. He had a good line in goading me with all that Fereldan nonsense.’ 

Cullen laughed. ‘Ah, you have me there then. You wanted to feel alive. Bleeding is the quickest way.’ Cullen paused. ‘You didn’t say why. What’s going on?’ He looked at Hawke, frowning, his eyes on his face watching, gauging. A thought, a sudden memory of Hawke in another office, just like this, nursing similar wounds, telling him … ‘Oh, Maker’s breath, I’m sorry, your mother …’ 

Hawke let out a tight breath. He didn’t answer immediately. Cullen waited. ‘Five years ago today.’ 

Cullen sighed and moved to Hawke, having no idea what he was going to do until Hawke leaned forward with a sigh and rested his forehead against Cullen’s belly. ‘Why didn’t you say?’ Cullen asked as he looked down, indecision tying him in knots for a brief moment, feeling the gentle pressure of Hawke’s body and the subtle weight of his pain. He wasn’t good with this sort of thing. It always went wrong or … he wasn’t enough but... 

Hawke let out a sigh and made to sit up, but Cullen shook his head and gave in to what he wanted to do and reached for him, holding him, one hand slipping loosely round the back of his head, the other around his un-injured shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, the words feeling thick and useless in his mouth. 

Hawke shook his head against Cullen, his head rolling before he laid his cheek against him instead. ‘I just need a reminder sometimes.’ 

‘Let’s get a drink.’ 

‘Yeah, I could do with a drink.’ 

  



	7. Outrunning the Shadows

‘I have to get out of here, Cullen.’ 

Oh, Maker he had seen this coming. ‘Out of where exactly?’ he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. 

‘This fucking castle-in-the-sky.’ 

‘Ah.’ Cullen couldn’t manage anymore. The hollow in his chest made him feel as if he was falling; a tugging weightlessness. 

They were sat in the garden three weeks later, over a chess board but neither had moved any pieces in a while. Cullen was leaning back, his arms on the arms of the chair and watching Hawke. Hawke sat forwards, his knee jigging, tearing a leaf into ever smaller pieces. ‘Ah? Is that it?’ 

‘No. That isn’t it. But I knew this would happen. What else do you want me to say?’ 

Hawke glanced at him a moment then looked away and dropped the pieces of mangled leaf. He scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘Maker, I don’t know. And before you start, I am aware of what you said, and I don’t know how to be any different right now. I don’t want—’ he stopped and wove his fingers together. ‘I don’t want you to feel that I’m running—‘ he stopped again and stood, pushing the chair back, before standing and moving away. He turned back. ‘It isn’t you, and I don’t want it to be this way but I’m not going to be good company for a while.’ 

He’d had the strapping for his shoulder removed, and was moving easier, not favouring either side. But Cullen saw the occasional wince, the occasional flex of tired, overstretched muscles and tendons. ‘I know. I know it isn’t me, I know, because this is what you did last time. Why do you think I didn’t come and find you when you got here? As if I could have avoided you this long, but I was trying to keep myself focussed, because I know you. People care about me, time to go. Is that it? All that—’ he stopped himself and pushed the queen around idly on the chess board. The piece was heavy and made a dull noise on the board. He didn’t like the queen. She was too powerful a piece. He preferred the rook and the knight; he had used them to win many games, even after losing his queen. He considered as he looked at the pieces. ‘Do you think you could cope with going out in the field?’ 

Hawke inhaled deeply and leant on the low wall, and Cullen saw him force himself to relax. ‘Yes, if you think that will be of use. I’m sorry Cullen.’ 

‘It doesn’t have to be this hard, Hawke.’ 

‘Cullen—’ He paused. ‘I feel trapped. Happy now?’ 

They fell silent for a while, as the noise of gardeners and the chantry sisters praying came to them in the little veranda. ‘By me? 

‘No. Surely you realise that by now?’ 

Cullen nodded slowly. ‘I’ve never asked,’ he said. ‘What are your long term plans?’ 

Hawke frowned. ‘Am I planning on finally settling somewhere, is that what you’re asking?’ 

Cullen shook his head, feeling a dull ache of disappointment. ‘Just wondering. You can’t keep running forever.’ 

‘I can see a time but ….’ He didn’t look up, and Cullen wondered for the thousandth time how deep that interest went that Hawke had professed in him. He looked down and picked up a rook. A safe, solid piece. It reminded him of his tower. He turned it in his fingers. 

‘I want certainty.’ Hawke said. 

‘Good luck with that.’ 

Hawke laughed briefly. ‘I can hope. I had something like it in Kirkwall until I managed to lose them all.’ 

‘You didn’t lose them. They made choices. You were left to pick up the pieces,’ Cullen said, but paused, knowing what Hawke meant. 

‘I swore to keep them all safe.’ 

‘Of course, because all twenty year olds know how easy that is.’ 

‘Stop trying to make excuses for me.’ 

‘I’m not. I’m saying what everyone else sees, and you are too stubborn or wrapped up in guilt to see.’ 

Hawke was silent a moment. He folded his arms to keep his hands still. ‘You’d think having no-one left would make you feel more free, but I just feel abandoned.’ 

It wasn’t his words, but something in his voice that made Cullen stand and go over to him. He perched on the wall next to him, their shoulders touching. He could feel the heat radiating through their clothes. Being in Hawke’s space was heady, real, and he looked at him for a long moment. ‘I’ll always be here, Hawke,’ he said finally. 

Hawke nodded. ‘I know. Thank you.’ 

Cullen smiled gently. ‘It really doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t need to keep running. If you do you’ll never find what you want.’ 

Hawke elbowed him. ‘Thanks for the relationship advice, Commander.’ 

Cullen gave a short laugh. ‘What would it take to keep you?’ He looked down at the piece in his fingers. ‘I mean—‘ 

‘Keep me, Cullen?’ Hawke raised his eyebrows. 

Cullen felt the heat rising in his face. ‘Keep you, here, somewhere. What do you need? Do you even know?’ Hawke looked at Cullen briefly, before turning to watch the gardeners. Cullen watched him swallow. ‘Going out somewhere will do you good.’ Cullen bit the inside of his lip. ‘So long as you promise to come back.’ 

A smile tugged at Hawke’s lips. ‘I promise, Cullen.’ 

  



	8. A Small Beginning

‘I adore your boyfriend, Cullen, but I can only take so much being second-bested by him. Your men look to him first when I speak to them. I can see them checking. What does the Champion think? Creators, he’s bad for my ego. Even I’ve started thinking I should check with him,’ Evan said later that day. He looked up from his desk in his quarters where he was signing off the pile of paperwork Cullen had presented him with. ‘Can we send him out somewhere?’ He pulled out the duty roster and looked at the list of names. 

Cullen didn’t speak but he flicked a glance at Evan. 

‘Don’t, Cullen. Do not tell me you told me so.’ 

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Inquisitor.’ 

‘I have new respect for everyone in Kirkwall. The man is a … fucking force of nature.’ 

Cullen bit the inside of his cheek. ‘Where were you thinking of sending him?’ 

‘Any fucking where.’ 

‘May I make a suggestion?’ 

‘Of course.’ 

‘The Hinterlands. Lots of bears. Hawke loves bears. He, Varric, Rainier and Cole and around ten of my men.’ 

Evan was nodding before Cullen finished speaking. ‘Good and the pelts can be used at the Crossroads.’ 

‘Precisely and while they’re there they can do a goodwill visit to Redcliffe and see the Arl. Hawke also loves sweet-talking nobles.’ 

‘You’re lying aren’t you.’ 

‘Only a little.’ 

‘About the bears or the nobles?’ 

‘Both as it happens but I do know he’s likely to start setting fire to things in frustration soon, so he may as well be out and about and using it for something useful.’ 

‘Why? What’s wrong with him?’ 

‘Nothing’s wrong exactly.’ Cullen leant against Evan’s desk. ‘I talked him out of leaving earlier—‘ 

‘Oh Cullen, I’m sorry.’ 

Cullen shrugged. ‘I was expecting it. He agreed to work out in the field.’ 

‘Because he grew up in an apostate family? Always on the move?’ 

‘I think it’s more complex than that.’ 

Evan nodded and let out a long sigh. ‘He’s like a hurricane that needs directing at things.’ 

‘I always think of him as a fairly good-natured bear, but the analogy works both ways.’ 

Evan laughed. ‘My lion and my bear.’ 

‘Don’t get ideas.’ 

‘I already have them.’ 

‘In which case I shall leave you to your little fantasies. Will you tell him?’ 

‘I’ll let you have that pleasure,’ Evan winked. 

*** 

‘You’re kidding me. Bears?’ 

‘And nobles.’ 

‘In one trip. Are you punishing me?’ Hawke sat back against the wall in the tavern one evening later that week and relaxed slowly. 

Cullen watched him carefully. Being out and testing himself would do him good. ‘Just a little. Someone needs to do it. I’ve got a good group of newish recruits could do with the experience, and you’re going see they get it.’ 

‘It’s grunt work.’ 

‘You’ve been grunting a lot in the last week or two. Evan is ready to have your head mounted over the throne.’ 

‘Fine. Just aim me at the wildlife, eh? Do I have to see this Arl?’ 

‘Yes. He’s wetting himself with anticipation at meeting the Champion of Kirkwall. Promise me you won’t start anything.’ Cullen sat forwards and sipped his drink. 

‘Like? 

‘I don’t know, an uprising?’ 

Hawke gave Cullen a narrow look. ‘I keep forgetting you command this bloody army and then you say something and I remember exactly why you do.’ 

Cullen smiled. ‘Just be nice to him.’ 

‘Maker, I wish I could leave that Champion crap behind.’ 

‘No you don’t.’ 

‘No, I do.’ He turned his head to look at Cullen. ‘I’m a refugee who made good. Not a fucking hero.’ 

‘That is so far from the truth and you know it.’ 

‘An apostate with a get out of jail free card.’ 

‘I’m not saying anything, not when you’re in this mood.’ 

Hawke huffed. ‘Remember that time on the coast, those bandits jumped us.’ 

‘Yes. Wanting to be the ones to kill the Champion?’ 

Hawke put and hand on Cullen’s thigh and squeezed briefly. ‘You leapt to my rescue.’ 

‘You didn’t need rescuing.’ 

Hawke put his elbows on the table and leant against Cullen. ‘Didn’t stop you.’ 

‘I wasn’t having the bloody Champion of Kirkwall dying on my watch. I’d have never heard the end of it.’ 

‘Ha ha,’ Hawke said, and sat back again, his hand on Cullen’s thigh, massaging gently. Cullen welcomed it, looked forwards to the small touches, the small intimacies. It was enough for now. 

So many things were going on. He wanted … so much from Hawke, but it didn’t need to be rushed. They’d both changed. Hawke wasn’t as reckless and unfettered. He was more uncertain and flightier. Cullen covered Hawke’s hand with his own a moment before looking up and meeting Hawke’s gaze, leaning against him a little and found his throat closing up. 

‘I will come back,’ Hawke said, his voice low, so Cullen had to strain to catch it. He was in no doubt Hawke meant it, and a thrill ran through him. He swallowed and looked away. 

‘I believe you. But you’re still so full of old guilt that there’s not much room left for anything else at the moment.’ 

Hawke raised his eyebrows and reached for his pint. 

‘Am I wrong?’ asked Cullen. 

Hawke was silent. He drank from his pint and wiped his mouth. ‘No.’ He leant his head back against the wall of the tavern. 

Cullen turned slightly, and watched him watching the smoke rising into the rafters, looked at the strong face, and unruly hair, the long lashes that flickered. When Hawke turned his head to him he said, ‘I’m not a quick fix.’ 

‘I know that, Cullen.’ 

Cullen hesitated, further thought stifled, caught by Hawke’s gaze, the distance of air between them suddenly too much to bear and he leaned in and kissed him, his head feeling full of wool and his body feeling nothing but the desire to be as close to Hawke as possible. 

It was a little awkward, but Hawke groaned happily and cupped his chin. Cullen made a soft needy sound in his throat when Hawke brought his other hand up and framed his face; he sank into the heat of Hawke’s hands, the feel of the fabric as he curled his fingers into Hawke’s tunic, Hawke’s short, hot breaths, his own spiralling heat. 

Until he remembered where they were and pulled back and blinked, his breath a little ragged. 

Hawke smoothed his thumb over Cullen’s mouth. ‘I know exactly what I want, Cullen,’ he said quietly. 

Cullen felt that heady pop of awareness in the back of his skull. He let out the tight breath in his chest. Hawke curled his hand round Cullen’s; such a contrast, Hawke’s tanned skin and his own pale skin. He imagined that hand stroking his bare skin and shook his head to clear the images. ‘I meant what I said.’ He kissed Hawke’s cheek, feeling the bristles under his lips, Hawke’s scent, and the sweet heavy tang of lyrium. He tugged his coat on as he stood and shuffled out from behind the table, aware they had attracted a few curious glances. 

‘You’re on the roster to leave tomorrow.’ He fought the need to press his hand to the back of his neck. ‘I’ll get your orders to you first thing. Sleep well, Hawke.’ He made his way to the stairs and flicked a last glance at Hawke before he descended, aware he was running away, needing the distance because he didn’t trust himself. 

  



	9. Hinterlands

‘Maker’s breath I’d forgotten how much killing these damn animals take.’ 

‘Nah, you’re just getting old.’ 

‘Fuck off,’ Hawke laughed. He wiped his brow and looked down at the dead bear. ‘Beautiful animal. Those bear traps in Kirkwall would never hold one of these things would they? The bears in the Free Marches smaller?’ 

Varric crouched down and retrieved an bolt. ‘How would I know? You know how I feel about nature and this shit.’ 

‘Who’s going to skin it?’ 

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Varric. 

‘I don’t mind,’ Rainier said. ‘I take it you’re both squeamish.’ 

‘I’m not going to argue,’ Hawke said. 

‘I’ll help.’ Cole slowly came visible as his vanish wore off. He bent down and stroked the bear’s ear, his fingers disappearing in the dense fur. 

*** 

‘Blood on my coat, again,’ Varric muttered as he and Hawke set up camp a little way off. ‘Is the smell of blood likely to attract more bears?’ 

‘I have no idea. I hate killing bears.’ 

‘It’s like old times.’ 

Hawke smiled. ‘Do you miss it?’ 

Varric shrugged out of his coat and hooked it over a branch. ‘Kirkwall? Of course.’ 

‘What about the others.’ 

Varric came over to where Hawke was stacking wood for the fire and squatted down, pushing a few sticks around. ‘I keep in touch. You?’ 

‘Off and on. This is the longest I’ve been in one place for years.’ 

Varric nodded and watched Hawke as he lit the fire with his hand, the little burst of magic was still thrilling to see even after all these years of being with Hawke. It never got old. But then the man had so much charm that just being with him never got old. ‘It’s been great having you around.’ 

Hawke gave him a quick smile. ‘Been good to be back with you, old friend.’ 

‘Cullen’s liking it too, it seems.’ 

Hawke didn’t rise to that. He went on quietly pushing heat into the fire until the kindling took and the flames started to build. He sat back on his knees and rested his hands on his thighs. 

‘He said I need to get rid of some guilt.’ 

‘Very perceptive of him.’ 

‘I’ve been running from Kirkwall— no. From Carver, mother, from all that bloody guilt for three years. I can’t see an end to it. I don’t feel I belong anywhere and I admit that it scares me.’ 

Varric nodded and settled himself on the ground. ‘I can understand that. Belonging is a strange idea. Really. When you get down to it, where do any of us belong?’ He leaned back on a hand and watched Blackwall—Rainier and Cole working at skinning the bear. A couple of recruits helped, while the rest set up the tents for the night. He grimaced. Nature was fine, so long as he was looking at it from through a window. ‘A lot happened in Kirkwall. Big things, bad things. Maybe you need to go back, make new memories.’ 

‘I did. It’s not the same place.’ 

‘There’s a dumb saying about standing in a river twice or something. Of course it isn’t. What did you expect? I meant see people, help. That sort of thing. See Aveline, and I’m sure Bran would welcome you back with open arms as Viscount.’ 

Hawke chuckled. ‘He’s doing a good job for all that he hates it.’ 

‘Move into that estate of yours properly. Find someone.’ Varric paused. ‘Unless you think maybe you already did?’ 

‘Stop fishing. This is not ending up in a novel.’ 

Varric chuckled. He watched Rainier cutting a slab of meat off the bear and sighed. 

*** 

‘Bets for when this Inquisition winds up,’ Varric said one night the following week. ‘What do we think? Another couple of years? Never?’ He tugged the blanket around himself tighter. 

Hawke watched the sparks from the damp wood rise in the heat and smoke until they were lost against the stars and clouds. He could hear the low murmur of the soldiers at their fires nearby, the crack of sticks as the night watch moved around. 

Rainier rolled his head to look over. ‘Still too much work to do,’ he said. 

‘It winds up like a clock and keeps going,’ Cole said. He was sitting cross-legged, letting a beetle crawl over his hands, holding it this way and that in the firelight. 

‘Something like that, yeah. Hawke? You’ve seen it from the inside and out.’ 

‘Evan is a power house. There’s no stopping him that I can see, unless that mark gets worse. Seems worse since I was last in Skyhold.’ 

‘Solas said the same before he buggered off,’ Rainier said. He sat up. ‘Something like that doesn’t last without a price to pay.’ 

‘Easy, Hero. Sounding a little bit grim.’ 

‘It is grim. It’s unnatural.’ Rainier stood up and brushed himself down. ‘I’m turning in. I’ll see you gentlemen in the morning.’ 

‘’Night,’ Hawke said and slumped onto his back. ‘Cullen said there were still rifts needed closing.’ 

‘Yeah. They’re all over.’ 

‘The demons still hurt him, but he knows now, how to soothe that hurt.’ 

Hawke frowned at Cole in the light from the fire. ‘Cullen?’ 

‘He likes you. You make him feel real.’ 

‘Well that’s something. How do you see that?’ 

‘Like you see a colour, perhaps.’ 

‘You could just file that under It’s complicated,’ said Varric. 

Hawke made a noise in agreement. 

‘I can see you flicker with wanting and feeling you shouldn’t be alive—‘ 

‘Stop that right there. I don’t need to be told how I feel.’ 

‘But—‘ 

‘No, Cole, I’m sorry. I mean it.’ 

‘Give it a rest now, kid. Get some sleep, eh? Long day tomorrow.’ 

‘Did I say something wrong?’ 

‘No, it’s fine,’ Hawke said. ‘Sometimes people don’t need to hear it. They already know.’ 

‘I can help.’ 

‘I don’t want you to. But thank you for the offer.’ 

‘Alright. Goodnight.’ 

Hawke watched Cole as he slipped into his tent like a shadow. ‘That is very unnerving,’ he said quietly. 

‘Yeah. But he’s a good kid. He’s learning.’ Varric stretched out, pulling his blanket over him and tucked his arms under his head. ‘He’s seen through you.’ 

‘Don’t.’ 

‘Need to let these things go, Hawke. It’ll kill you otherwise.’ 

Hawke leant back on his elbow, lifted a stick and poked the fire. ‘Hasn’t yet.’ 

‘Going one round with Bull put you out of action for three weeks. If I can help, Hawke, I will, just say the word.’ 

Hawke was silent a moment, as he poked the nearly spent logs. They flared into a last flickering flame. ‘Got any marshmallows on you?’ 

‘No, just some Antivan rum.’ 

‘Could have just gone some marshmallows.’ 

‘I still just have the rum.’ 

  



	10. What's Good Inside

Hawke sat on a rise near camp in Hafter’s Wood. Varric and Cole were discussing the finer points of cooking rabbits, the recruits were cleaning their weapons, cooking, sparring, and Hawke was doing precisely nothing, sitting on his ass in the sun. Early evening sunlight shafted down through the trees, gnats flickered in the sunlight and shade, and the scent of pine drifted on the breeze. He picked a twig up and spent several moments snapping it into smaller and smaller bits. 

‘Mind if I join you?’ Ranier asked. 

Hawke shook his head. 

‘You’ve been doing this a lot recently.’ Ranier said, as he eased himself down. He leant his elbows on his knees and cast a quick glance at Hawke. ‘Staring moodily into the distance.’ 

‘I’m trying out a new look.’ 

Rainier smiled. ‘Can’t say it suits you.’ 

Hawke said nothing. He drop the pieces of twig, and linked his fingers, his forearms on his knees. 

‘This about Cullen?’ 

‘Why would it be about him?’ 

‘Not my place, I’m sure.’ 

‘No, go on.’ 

‘You’ve been staring into space at every opportunity for the last week looking sappy. Just wondered if you wanted someone to talk to about it.’ 

‘Sappy,’ Hawke chuckled. ‘When you move around a lot, have done all your life, it’s hard to see it ever being different.’ 

Rainier nodded. He loosened his padded coat and leant back on his elbows. ‘Life on the run, you mean.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘You and I’ve done it for different reasons, but I understand. I found it hard at first in Skyhold. A castle on a bloody mountain? Where do you go? It’s a dead end.’ 

Hawke picked up a dried seed head, and threw it; watched it spiral in the light breeze. ‘I hate it. It’s suffocating. It’s like a prison camp.’ 

Ranier chuckled. ‘Don’t let Evan hear you say that. I think he nearly wet himself with happiness when we first got there, he and Solas with their little chats. Claustrophobic if you ask me and no place to run an military operation from. Good place to hide but nothing else.’ 

‘It was about hiding at the beginning though, wasn’t it?’ 

‘I suppose.’ Rainier looked at Hawke. ‘So this just about feeling cooped up?’ 

Hawke shook his head. 

Rainier remained quiet. 

Hawke picked up another seed pod and twirled it. ‘I lost …’ he started. ‘Kirkwall. I took my family to their deaths.’ 

‘Very dramatic. I’m sure you know it wasn’t like that without me pointing it out.’ 

Hawke nodded slowly and gave a small smile. ‘Thank you. I know that, rationally.’ 

‘But your heart is telling you otherwise.’ 

‘I hardly ever see Carver, it’s bitter between us. Bethany, Mother … Maker, I wonder sometimes how much I can lose before I break.’ 

Rainier was silent a moment. ‘I think you’d have already broken if you were going to.’ He sniffed and sat up. ‘Some people don’t know when to stop. They keep going, wanting an end, but just find new depths. I think you’re one of those.’ 

Hawke remained silent. 

‘So where does Cullen fit in this?’ 

Hawke gave a short laugh. ‘You see too much, Rainier.’ He was silent a moment. ‘I want him to, but we’re very different. He’s a rock. He’s so sure of who he is, what he wants—‘ 

‘He’s atoning for being a prick as far as I know.’ 

Hawke laughed, and Rainier joined in. ‘He was. Yes he was.’ Hawke scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘Sometimes … Maker, I don’t know. I feel so cut off from everyone, I’ve got nothing to offer him anyway.’ 

‘You do like your drama. Turn it round. Imagine I’ve come to you, I’m an ex-con, you know my story. What would you say to me if I found someone I wanted to be with? If I didn’t know I had anything to offer.’ 

Hawke looked at Rainier for a long moment and let out a long sigh. ‘Fine. I would say that first you have to live with who you are, and accept it.’ 

Rainier nodded. ‘Good start. Go on.’ 

‘Then be honest,’ Hawke sucked in a deep breath, ‘that you aren’t who you wanted to be, or that things went wrong, or didn’t go how you planned, that … but—‘ he paused. 

‘No. Go on with what you were saying.’ 

‘He suffered—‘ 

‘I meant about you.’ 

Hawke gave a tight sigh. ‘You offer yourself. There’s nothing else really, and you hope it’s enough.’ 

Rainier nodded. ‘We have nothing else in the end. Besides, you’ve made it known you don’t want to feel safe, prefer your own company, no commitments, yet you’re drawn to the Commander who, let’s face it, is the embodiment of safety and commitment. Maybe you’re not that loner after all. Maybe you’ve just forgotten who you are for a while. Easy to do. I forgot, in that cell.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

‘I was Blackwall for years, it gave me purpose but in that cell, alone, I forgot that. Evan saw something in me. He must have done, to give me this second chance and I remembered who I was, who I had been. You shy away from people now, but that’s not who you’ll be for the rest of your life. It’s something to move on from. You define who you are every day.’ 

Hawke turned his head, and looked out over the small valley. A fennec loped past on the path below. 

‘Dinner,’ Varric called. ‘Come on before Cole eats it all.’ 

  



	11. Moving On (Part II)

‘Dear Evan and Cullen, 

Body count: 15 bears, 18 fennecs, 3 boar (vicious bastards) and a squirrel. Skins delivered to the Crossroads. Wells broke his toe (maybe) and Carson cut himself shaving. 

The Arl is a charming man, moustache like Stroud’s (what is it with moustaches that look like dead rats?) and he throws a good party. Thought I’d mention. 

Love Hawke 

PS. Varric owes me twenty gold pieces, which he doesn’t have so we agreed you (Evan, not Cullen) would underwrite him.’ 

There was a bird scribbled underneath. 

Evan turned the paper over and then looked up from the note written on the back of a torn off piece of map. ‘This is Hawke’s report?’ 

Cullen made a noncommittal gesture. 

‘He’s making a point isn’t he?’ 

‘Probably.’ 

Evan put the report down and nodded. ‘Well, he did what was asked. Where is he now?’ 

‘Taking a bath, I believe.’ 

‘Is he now?’ Evan asked with an eyebrow raised. ‘Probably needs his back scrubbed.’ 

Cullen refused to be drawn. ‘Is there anything else?’ 

‘Cullen,’ Evan said. 

‘Inquisitor?’ 

‘I’ve been thinking.’ 

‘Oh?’ 

‘About you.’ 

Cullen folded his arms. ‘…Thank you.’ 

‘You haven’t heard what I’ve been thinking yet.’ 

Cullen waited politely. 

‘I get the feeling that you are … you seem to me to be a man biding his time.’ Evan drummed his fingers lightly on the desk. ‘Your family is in South Reach?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘How long would it take to get there? Three days or so?’ 

‘Four or five, without tiring the horse.’ 

‘Hmm. There’s probably a lot of bandits on the way, something you might need some help with, I imagine, if you were to go?’ 

‘Possibly, but there’s been no activity reported in—‘ 

‘But I also imagine it’s pretty lonely, four or five days—‘ 

‘Is there a point to this?’ Cullen frowned. 

‘Perhaps this is a little forward, but I wondered if you’d like to take a break. To visit your family, see if being away from here is what you want. And you can take Hawke with you. He’s Fereldan, probably enjoy being back in the old country—’ 

‘—What?’ 

‘Which bit are you saying what to?’ 

‘All of it.’ 

‘Why?’ 

Cullen blinked. ‘Well, for a start, I don’t want a holiday, I have things to do.’ 

‘I’m not replacing you, I’m giving you the chance to see if leaving is what you want. Go and talk to your family. Think about it away from here. Rylen and Michel will cope.’ He paused. ‘And it’ll give you some time with Hawke,’ he added with a smile. 

Cullen ignored the last comment. ‘It feels like you’re moving me out.’ 

‘Look, can you tell me, hand on heart, that you haven’t thought about leaving?’ 

Cullen couldn’t hold the elf’s earnest gaze and looked away. 

‘For the record I don’t want you to go. But I’m giving you the option, and I will respect any decision you make.’ 

‘A holiday?’ Cullen said after a moment. 

‘As long as you want.’ 

‘I haven’t seen my family for … years.’ 

‘I know.’ 

‘Hawke won’t want to come along.’ 

‘That’s part of the deal, you’ll have to talk him into it.’ 

Cullen shook his head. ‘He doesn’t want to meet my family.’ 

‘I would rather Hawke wasn’t here without you to manage him.’ 

‘He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need managing.’ 

‘Varric just encourages him. You know how to deal with him, you don’t do that ... hero worship thing everyone does, and Dorian—‘ 

‘Including you?’ 

Evan smiled. ‘Yes, alright I admit it. And Dorian wanted to suggest a threesome and I didn’t disagree straight away.’ 

Cullen blinked. ‘I didn’t need to know that.’ 

‘Just making a point. If you go, convince him to go with you, that’s all I ask, or he’ll be running the Inquisition before you get back, and I’ll be sneaking away like a thief in the night. He burns too brightly.’ 

‘He does. He knows it.’ Cullen paused, toying with a metal wax seal off Evan’s desk. He turned it in his fingers. ‘He wants to be nobody, but he never will be. It hurts him. I think he believes if he was nobody then none of the bad things would have happened.’ 

‘They would. Just differently.’ 

‘That’s very fatalistic.’ 

‘Don’t you think there’s a certain inevitability to some things, some people? Hawke becoming Champion, becoming Viscount, for example. I’ve never met anyone like him.’ 

Cullen smiled. ‘Neither have I. I have missed him so much.’ He sucked in a deep breath and placed the seal carefully. 

‘Love hurts,’ said Evan gently. 

Cullen lifted his eyes to Evan’s. He sighed heavily. Evan smiled. 

‘Can I think about this?’ 

‘Of course. It was just a suggestion but one I hope you will take up. I think you need some time.’ 

‘Thank you, Inquisitor.’ 

  



	12. Missed

Cullen gave Hawke an hour to finish his bath. When he wandered back over to his guest quarters he passed the tavern, loud with raucous laughter and singing, and he shook his head with a smile. 

Hawke’s rooms were empty and the remains of his bath were everywhere. Water on the stone floor, a towel draped over the end of the bed, an empty wine glass. He pulled the door shut and made his way back to the tavern and sure enough there was Hawke in the centre of it all with an arm draped round Bull, looking flushed, happy and dishevelled, a pint glass in hand, singing bawdy songs at the top of his voice. They all were. Cullen didn’t go in, but remained where he was, peering round the door with a smile. 

‘Joining us, Curly?’ Varric was sat near the door, feet up with a full pint and an empty plate in front of him. 

‘No, thank you. Few things to catch up on.’ 

‘Come on, one drink.’ 

‘I won’t, Varric, thank you. I just wanted a quick word with Hawke but I’ll catch him tomorrow.’ 

‘Suit yourself. I’ll—‘ 

‘Cullen!’ Hawke called. 

Cullen smiled and shook his head, and left. 

He’d reached the bottom of the steps to the battlements when he heard the tavern door slam open and creak shut. ‘Cullen? There you are.’ And Hawke hurried up behind him. ‘I’d ask you to join us but I’m fairly sure you won’t.’ 

Cullen shook his head. ‘I have a ton of paperwork and I won’t sleep if I spend the evening drinking and singing.’ 

‘Doesn’t have to be all drinking and singing,’ Hawke said with a wink. 

‘And you’re drunk.’ 

‘Not drunk. Not drunk at all,’ he said, reaching for Cullen and caught his surcoat in his fingers. ‘Did you want me? I mean I know you want me, but for specific other things, not sexy things.’ 

Cullen gave a quiet laugh. ‘I just wanted a chat, but it’ll keep. I’ll come and see you first thing.’ 

Hawke’s smile faded. ‘Can’t you make it more like fifth thing?’ 

‘Tomorrow at some point.’ 

‘Good, ok,’ he said and made no move to return to the tavern. 

‘What?’ 

‘Nothing.’ Hawke put his hands on his hips and tipped his head back. ‘Pretty stars.’ 

‘Go back inside.’ 

‘You’re pretty too.’ 

‘Hawke, that was a terrible segue,’ Cullen smiled. 

Hawke shrugged. ‘Do I need one?’ he asked, and looped his finger on a hook on Cullen’s breastplate. ‘What are these for?’ 

‘Securing colours.’ 

‘Not lovers?’ 

‘I’m fairly sure not, no, though it’s Orlesian so I wouldn’t rule it out.’ 

They were laughing quietly together as Hawke lifted a hand to Cullen’s cheek, before kissing him gently on the mouth. He lifted his head and looked at Cullen. 

Cullen focussed on what he could see of Hawke’s face in the dark. He leaned forwards and met Hawke half way, as all his senses were honed on Hawke’s lips on his, the rough warmth of his beard against his skin, the scent of the man, the heat and feel of him so close, holding him. The kiss was long and thorough. Hawke gave a little moan of pleasure as Cullen opened his mouth, tasting Hawke back, teasing with a smile against his lips. 

Cullen sighed through his nose as he grasped the short, messy hair at the back of Hawke’s head, holding him firm as they kissed. He didn’t want it to end, this heart-stopping, tantalising exploration of each other, until Hawke moved his head to nuzzle Cullen’s cheek and he felt the slight, delicious burn of Hawke's beard. 

‘Hawke—‘ 

‘Hmm?’ 

Cullen swallowed. The sensation of Hawke’s mouth nibbling kisses along the sensitive skin beneath his ear was distracting in the extreme. ‘That’s … really nice,’ he finished quietly. 

Hmm,’ Hawke agreed. He gave Cullen a last soft kiss on the mouth then looked at him quietly for a few moments, his hands still at his waist, as Cullen held onto his shoulders. 

‘Your singing companions are probably waiting.’ 

Hawke nodded. ‘I don’t think they’ll mind.’ 

Cullen swallowed. ‘Well, it’s—‘ he cleared his throat, ‘quite cold.’ 

‘It is quite cold. Castle on a mountain,’ Hawke said with a smile. ‘I have warm hands though,’ he said and pushed a hand under Cullen’s gambeson, and tunic, only to find another softer layer, which he pushed his fingers under with determined smile while Cullen chuckled and held his arm out of the way, and Cullen could see the disbelief when Hawke came to the last layer and laughed out loud, but with a bit of a struggle he reached Cullen’s bare skin. ‘See? How much are you wearing, by the way?’ 

‘Four layers,’ Cullen chuckled at Hawke expression, and tried to stop his breath fluttering as Hawke’s fingers moved against his skin. 

‘Four?’ 

‘Four. It gets cold.’ 

‘Yes it does,’ Hawke said, unable to hide his grin any longer. ‘Cullen?’ 

‘Yes?’ he tried to keep his voice as neutral as he could as Hawke stroked the soft skin above his waistband, which was sending little trickles of sensation up his spine and he leant into it, keeping his eyes on Hawke. 

Hawke looked like he was having trouble putting together a sentence. He cleared his throat. ‘I missed you,’ he said finally. 

‘I missed you too,’ Cullen said. ‘I’m glad you came back safely.’ 

‘Well this is nice,’ Hawke said, still grinning. ‘Anyone walking past might wonder what we’re up to, me with my hand up your front, you hanging onto me like your life depended on it—‘ 

Definitely the wrong thing to say, as Cullen tried to step back, pushing Hawke’s hands away. 

‘Ah, ruined the moment. Shame. Me and my big mouth,’ Hawke said. ‘Does this embarrass you?’ 

‘I am Commander of the Forces—‘ 

‘Save it for the Orlesians, Cullen. Besides it’s nearly midnight, who’s going to care? Does this embarrass you?’ he asked again. 

‘I would rather it was private, Hawke.’ 

‘Us? This? What?’ Hawke frowned. ‘Ok,’ he said when Cullen sighed and looked away. ‘Would you like …’ he pointed over his shoulder, ‘a quick nightcap? I know you’re busy.’ 

Cullen considered. Yes he wanted to, yes he wanted to take every moment he could with Hawke, every pointless, precious moment, but he wanted to keep this contained. If it spilled over it would fill his life and if Hawke left ... 

But really, was he going to ever say no? 

‘A quick nightcap. That would be nice.’ 

*** 

The fire was low now and the room warm. Hawke let Cullen push the door closed. He tugged off his gloves, toed off his boots and threw his coat on the bed. He glanced at Cullen. ‘Sit. What do you fancy to drink?’ 

Silence. Hawke glanced round. Cullen was fiddling with his gloves, looking lost in thought. ‘You alright?’ 

‘Yes,’ Cullen replied. ‘Yes, I’ll have whatever. What you’re having. Thank you.’ 

Hawke turned back to the glasses and reached for a whisky, a nice single malt from Starkhaven. Footsteps on the stone floor. He waited. Cullen stopped behind him. 

‘Hawke.’ 

‘Hmm?’ Hawke poured the drinks. Act casual, act casual. Cullen reminded him of a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Scuff of feet behind him and a very tentative touch to his shoulder. 

‘Water?’ 

Cullen stepped closer. Hawke could feel his heat now, feel the brush of his chest against his back, his breath across his cheek. He poured a drop of water in both glasses to stretch the whisky and just stood, waiting. Cullen obviously decided that was encouraging because he rested his head on Hawke’s shoulder and his hand moved around his waist. ‘I missed you.’ 

‘Can I hold you?’ 

‘I just wanted you to know that.’ 

Hawke turned, his hands going around Cullen and pulled him to him. ‘I missed you. It’s why I came back.’ 

Cullen nodded. 

‘You know, missing people is a good start to … ’ Hawke tailed off. ‘A good start,’ he said with a smile. 

‘I didn’t want there to be anyone, it’s so temporary, so shut away here, I couldn’t see anything good coming from it.’ 

Hawke nodded. ‘You know how I feel about it here.’ He paused. For a romantic tête à tête this had some promise. ‘What happens now?’ 

‘Now?’ 

‘Right now, yes. Because I’m getting all sorts of ideas.’ 

Cullen smiled a lop-sided smile. ‘Me too, and I hadn’t intended to.’ 

‘That’s the nice thing with ideas like that.’ He risked running his hand down Cullen’s flank to his arse, watching Cullen’s face. 

Cullen’s gaze skittered away, before coming back to meet Hawke’s. 

‘Would it be so hard to enjoy yourself, Cullen? Let go for a bit.’ 

‘It isn’t that.’ 

Hawke nodded slowly. ‘You say to me you’re no quick fix, and I know. Absolutely. I don’t want you to feel treated like that. A quick thing can be fun, it can messy, it can be whatever you make it, but that’s not for you. What I do want to know is what you call quick, because I already have my hand on your arse.’ He tried to hide the smile, but Cullen’s mouth tugged up at the corners and they smiled at each other. ‘And it’s a fucking nice arse,’ he added as he slid his other hand round and pulled Cullen flush against him, feeling the hardening outline of his cock against him. 

Cullen cleared his throat. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’m getting quite hot, now.’ 

‘Yes, I can imagine,’ Hawke said and laughed. ‘Perhaps I could help?’ he asked, and stood back a little, as far as the table would allow, to push Cullen’s surcoat off. ‘Is this one layer or weren’t you counting this?’ 

‘I wasn’t counting that.’ 

‘Ok.’ He paused as Cullen pushed his own jacket back off his shoulders, met his gaze quickly. ‘I don’t have four layers on.’ 

Cullen smiled. ‘I can find something to do, I’m sure,’ he said and leaned into the sudden kiss Hawke pressed to his mouth. 

‘You,’ Hawke chuckled and tugged at the leather straps holding the breastplate in place over the gambeson. ‘Five layers counting this.’ 

‘Yes.’ Cullen reached for the lacings on Hawke’s shirt but Hawke took his hands in his. ‘You do your sleeve lacings.’ 

They worked in silence for a minute, each tugging at the straps and leather ties of the padded under shirt and breastplate Cullen wore every day, before Hawke slid the arms free and let the metal drop gently to the floor. He tallied mentally. ‘Two layers left? No three. Nothing was ever going to be quick about this,’ he chuckled, and Cullen caught him round the back of the neck and kissed his forehead and said, ‘I’m sorry,’ quietly but smiled as he said it. 

The next two layers went quickly, and they stood and faced each other in just their tunics and breeches. 

‘Here,’ Hawke handed Cullen his glass and moved away. He moved to his bed and plumped the pillows up and propped himself up. ‘It’d be nice if you joined me here, but please sit where you like.’ He pushed his hand behind his head and watched Cullen a moment. Indecision warred inside the man, he could see it. Cullen’s gaze flickered over the floor, back to his drink, to Hawke, and back again. He moved over to Hawke, and sat on the edge of the bed. 

Cullen put his glass on the floor, and then without looking at Hawke held his hand out for his glass, which Hawke gave him. That went on the floor next to Cullen’s, he heard them chink together, and then Cullen was leaning over him and his mouth hovered just shy of Hawke’s. Hawke put his hand on Cullen’s waist and stroked, searching his gaze for how this was going, until Cullen sighed and pressed his mouth to Hawke’s. 

They groaned together, and the kiss was all soft breath and need. Hands tugged at tunics, lacings slid undone, Cullen moved over Hawke on his knees, straddling him, holding himself up with one arm, and Hawke felt the muscles tensed beneath his skin, before pushing his own knees apart to make Cullen collapse on top of him. 

He kneaded his perfect arse, rocking Cullen against him, hearing his sighs and soft noises, until Cullen’s body got the idea and rocked against him; Hawke wrapped his legs over the back of Cullen’s thighs, unable to decide where to touch first, his hands inside Cullen’s tunic, grasping and stroking, just wanting everything he could feel and taste and smell and hear from the man and watched open mouthed as Cullen lifted himself up on his hands and looked down at where their bodies met and pushed against Hawke, letting out a sigh as he did so. 

‘Maker,’ he whispered and looked back to Hawke. 

Hawke felt drunk. Absolutely drunk. On the sight and feel of Cullen and how he was grinding them together, and he was lost. 

Cullen lowered himself and tucked his head into the crook of Hawke’s neck. Hawke stroked his hair, desperately wanting to feel some friction on his cock but Cullen was still. He stroked Cullen’s sides and kissed his cheek and neck, whispering silly things in his ear, until Cullen chuckled and lifted his head. ‘This isn’t covered by Chantry teaching, I hope you realise. I don’t know what to say.’ 

‘Oh Hawke, take me now,’ Hawke said in a falsetto voice. 

‘I don’t bloody sound like that,’ Cullen said with a laugh. 

‘Depends how I take you,’ Hawke grinned and Cullen cuffed his arm. ‘You don’t have to say anything, Cullen. I’m happy like this. You?’ 

‘Yes.’ Cullen dipped his head and kissed him and they lost themselves for a long few minutes, only the sounds of the fire popping and the wind whistling occasionally across the window, and soft moans and heat-slick kisses. 

*** 

Cullen clutched his breastplate and surcoat to him as he walked across the frozen courtyard, making for the steps to the battlements and his tower. He’d left Hawke, still clothed, sleeping; he’d collected his things quietly, not wanting to wake him, and if he was honest, not wanting to make excuses, because he’d wanted to stay. 

The tavern door swung open, briefly letting the full volume of Bull’s and the Chargers’ singing out into the night air and Cullen smiled as he hurried past. 

  



	13. Stripping the Layers

‘You want me to meet your family?’ 

Hawke lounged on his bed in almost the same spot Cullen had left him not twelve hours before, with a book on his chest, the late morning sun streaming in through a gap in the drapes. The room had been tidied and a breakfast tray waited to be collected on the desk. Cullen hovered uncomfortably by the footboard of the bed. He toyed with his gloves. 

‘No of course not,’ Cullen sighed. ‘But Evan strongly suggested you come along for the ride. He’s worried they’ll make you the Inquisitor.’ 

‘I don’t want to be the bloody Inquisitor. He’s the one with the glowy hand.’ 

‘That’s hardly the point. You intimidate him and Dorian fancies you so that doesn’t help.’ 

‘Dorian?’ Hawke said musingly. He nodded slowly. ‘I could see that working—‘ he cut off with a laugh as Cullen threw a glove at him. ‘Commander, I believe you’re jealous.’ He spread his thighs slightly and draped Cullen’s glove over his crotch. ‘Come and get your glove.’ 

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re an ass, Hawke.’ 

‘I want your ass, Hawke, you meant to say.’ 

Cullen smiled resignedly. ‘Hawke,‘ he began, but then just looked at his glove. 

‘Why did you leave last night?’ Hawke asked quietly. 

That simple question turned Cullen on far more than he would have imagined and everything he wore suddenly felt constricting. He blinked and took a step forwards, aware of Hawke watching him. It was too much for a weak man like himself to deny; he wanted to touch him so much. He reached out and let his fingers rest lightly on Hawke’s chest, then ran them slowly down, feeling the weave of the fabric and the heat and dip of muscle beneath. 

He looked at the contrast of his pale fingers against the dark red of Hawke’s tunic and he couldn’t believe he could be so bold. Hawke watched him but he couldn’t meet his gaze. His knee bumped Hawke’s. 

His eyes felt so heavy, his chest was tight, but he made himself reach up and unbuckle his chest plate, one strap, slowly, because it was tricky one-handed, and all the while Hawke watched and made this so, so intimate, this simple thing he did every night, and then one strap was undone and he dropped his other glove somewhere, he didn’t look and used both hands to unbuckle the other strap and tugged it free, letting it drop to the floor. His gambeson came off next, shrugged off, discarded, then his under-coat, and then his tunic, as a last minute urge to free himself of all this, until he stood in just his breeches. 

He knelt on the bed, his knee between Hawke’s knees and leaned down as Hawke pushed up to meet him, mouth to mouth briefly. 

‘Come here,’ Hawke said softly and he felt the hand on his belt pulling him down and he was lost in their kisses. He pushed himself against Hawke because he couldn’t fight the need to feel how hard he was; he couldn’t imagine not doing it. He felt Hawke’s leg around him, holding him tight against his body; the rocking insistent and hypnotic. 

Hawke pressed his mouth to Cullen’s shoulder. Cullen pushed his fingers into Hawke’s hair, kissed his temple, forehead, and for the love of the Maker just lost himself completely in the feelings, skin on skin, and sighed. 

‘Maker, I want to fuck you,’ Hawke whispered hot breath in hot skin. 

Cullen tried to make words but a strangled groan escaped his lips. 

‘Cullen,’ Hawke said, kissing his way back to Cullen’s mouth, and then he lifted his head. ‘Cullen.’ He rolled them, pushing Cullen onto his back, catching one hand in his and brought it to his mouth and kissed the knuckles. ‘Hey, Chantry-boy.’ 

Cullen lay still, feeling his heartbeat heavy in his chest, his throat loosen enough to speak. ‘I feel drunk. You make me feel drunk,’ Cullen and opened his eyes, meeting Hawke’s gaze. 

Hawke smiled back. ‘You do the same to me.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘I will take anything you offer me, Cullen.’ 

‘Maker, the things you say.’ Cullen swallowed and lifted his free hand to trace the line of Hawke’s mouth, and watched in heated fascination when Hawke took his finger in his mouth and sucked, teasing the tip with his teeth, and he found he’d opened his own mouth and was hungrily following every move with his eyes. Hawke pulled his finger free and cupped Cullen’s cheek, his thumb resting against his lips. 

He met Hawke’s gaze, feeling the lightest pressure against his lips and grasped Hawke’s wrist, before taking his thumb in his mouth. He closed his eyes, and sucked, pushing with his tongue against the slight pressure. 

‘Look at me,’ Hawke said. Cullen couldn’t, he couldn’t. ‘Look at me,’ Hawke repeated; he willed himself to meet Hawke’s heated gaze and felt so exposed and open and wanton that he couldn’t help the heat rise up his cheeks and when Hawke said, ‘Such a beautiful sight,’ he pressed his eyes shut. 

It was frantic, hectic, the fumbling urge to be free of all the clothes between them, as Cullen unlaced his own breeches and Hawke helped and then worked his own off and all the while the desperate kisses missed and half caught, the scent of Hawke’s hair and skin, the feel of his fingers on his skin and they rolled together, Hawke’s hand between them, soft moans became more urgent, his breathing became more erratic. 

He chased the sensations, desperate and greedy, rutting like an animal in the field. He whimpered in shame at the sudden image of himself, heat rising up his chest and cheeks but on some other plane it was alright, it was more than alright it was everything and he was as diffuse as the clouds and the world felt small in his chest, and he felt vital and real and Hawke defined him and completed him, his scent the delicate hint of lyrium, wood smoke … ‘Oh fuck,’ he cried as he strained and came, and nothing had ever made him feel like he did now with Hawke, nothing felt as perfect, blissfully pure and empty as if he was high in the brilliant blue summer sky. In that moment he was diamond sharp and terrifyingly alive. And then he was falling into fuzzy headed happiness. He felt the spreading sticky wetness on skin, and his breath harsh in his throat and the thud of his blood in his body. 

‘Oh Maker, Cullen,’ Hawke whispered raggedly against Cullen’s skin in the aftermath of his own orgasm. His hold softened as he dragged in a breath, stroked Cullen’s back and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

‘Hawke,’ he said for no other reason than he could, to taste the man’s name in his mouth, to focus his mind, because there was nothing other than the man holding him. He lay quietly, for a few long moments, becoming aware of where he was slowly, his heart tumbling crazily in his chest and let out a long sigh. 

He just wanted to sleep. Never move again. Nothing seemed as important as lying here. There was that sliding feeling again, and Cullen pressed his face to the crook of Hawke’s neck. He lay in a hazy warm glow and sighed again, happily, completely content. ‘Mind if I sleep?’ 

‘Use me as a pillow if you like.’ 

Cullen laughed. ‘I already used you.’ 

‘I’m surprisingly resilient to being used like that. Warm enough?’ 

‘Hmm,’ Cullen said and gave in and drifted off to sleep. 

  



	14. The Wilds

Dorian and Cullen watched Evan, Hawke and the rest of the group head down the slope towards the head of the valley. It was a cold bright morning, their breath puffed around them and the ice sparkled in the snow. 

‘Doesn’t get easier, I’m afraid. Watching them ride away.’ 

‘No,’ Cullen said. ‘Is it silly of me to hope?’ 

Dorian looked at Cullen a long moment. ‘That there’s a future for you?’ 

Cullen nodded. 

‘Hope is what gets us out of bed in the mornings, yes? I’m sure you don’t need me to answer that.’ 

‘Perhaps I’m part of the problem. He still feels the need to ride away.’ 

Dorian shook his head. ‘You know that’s not true. He will keep running until he realises he’s trying to outrun his own shadow, Cullen.’ 

Cullen rested his fingers on the edge of the stone, ran his fingertips over the corner. ‘You’re right.’ He met Dorian’s gaze. ‘I need to get back.’ He bowed his head briefly and walked away. 

*** 

Three weeks later, Cullen took the note from the runner as he crossed the icy courtyard. He nodded and looked at it quickly. 

‘Inquisitor’s party returning, passed Head of Valley Post at 3 bells. 8 returns: 5 men. Inquis + 2 company.’ 

Underneath was scribbled in a different hand, ‘Serah Hawke absent’. Cullen sighed and tucked the note inside his surcoat. 

*** 

The Korkari Wilds were as awful as he remembered. Grey, desolate, featureless, apart from a ruined tower on a ridge, and the long winding paths through the otherwise empty landscape. 

Hawke pressed his horse to a canter along a bleak scarp looking over the desolation. White and grey bones lay about, disturbed by animals and worse. Here and there a rusting sword or hammer; a pennant abandoned in the panic to flee the darkspawn. He remembered too clearly the terror and the crazy rush to just get out and go, and his mother’s sadness at leaving it all behind. 

He remembered Carver and Bethany arguing. Mostly Carver, in his frustration that he couldn’t fix anything, picking at anything and everything and Bethany trying to get through to him and Mother wanting to stay and give up, and his own overwhelming sense of powerlessness. 

That was the worst. Seeing his family imploding with stress and pain, and being unable to make a scrap of difference. So he’d done the only thing he could. He’d slung his staff over his shoulder, rammed a loaf and some cheese and a couple of pears funny how you remember the small things in a back-pack and shoved it into Carver’s hands, yelled at Bethany to stop trying to make Carver feel bloody better about himself and get Mother out of the house and mother … mother had stopped to find his father’s signet ring. He remembered the look in her eyes as he’d told her it was a waste of time because the man was dead and they were alive and nothing was worth the risk. 

The look she gave him had gone in less than a second, but it had stayed with them both. It hadn’t been the same after that. He looked down at it now on his finger, scratched and dented, a tiny chip in the enamel. 

The horse shifted under him, pulling him from his thoughts. The slope levelled off and he recognised the plateau where the ogre had attacked. He looked around trying to place the events that had led to Bethany being killed and he missed it first time. 

Then he noticed and stared. A simple pile of stones with a little white marker. 

Hawke slid from the horse, letting it stand and stamp in nervousness. 

The white marker had a simple B scratched into it, done with a knife, a little crude, a little weather worn. He reached out his hand to touch it, feeling empty, but a part of him was telling him he should have expected this and he wished yet again that he and Carver had found some common ground and just bloody well talked to each other. 

He went back to his horse and pulled out his canteen. 

He had expected to feel more guilt. That had been the defining feeling for most of the last twelve or so years after all, but looking at the simple marker made him feel more free than he had done for years, someone else, someone who cared as much as he did, someone he loved desperately, had been here before him and done this and he sat at the foot of the little grave, rested his head on his arms, and just looked for a while. 

*** 

It was getting dark when he finally stood. The horse had wandered a little way down the slope but he caught up with it, and swung himself into the saddle. Perhaps he could find Carver, perhaps they could just be the family they were. Perhaps with Cullen it would be alright. 

*** 

‘Serah Hawke has passed through the sentry post at the head of the valley, Ser. He should be here within the hour.’ 

Cullen looked up. He kept his face as neutral as he could and nodded. ‘Thank you.’ 

Five weeks late - five weeks, two days and seventeen hours to be precise - but he was coming back, just like he’d promised. Cullen felt lighter than he had in weeks. 

*** 

Evan and Cullen were looking over a few reports on recent bandit activity in the lower Frostbacks, disrupting supply lines. Cullen was trying not to keep an ear out for arrogant strutting boots on steps outside his office, when there was a noise in the doorway. Evan glanced up and smiled. 

‘Hawke, good to see you again.’ 

Cullen straightened beside him. Evan flicked him a glance. On Cullen’s face was … Evan smiled … the same expression Dorian made when he welcomed Evan home. He’d seen it a hundred times. Relief; absolute adoring relief. ‘Hawke, when you have a moment?’ 

Hawke inclined his head briefly. ‘Of course, Inquisitor.’ 

Evan let the door swing shut behind himself, and put a hand out to stop the runner passing him with his reports. 

‘But Sister Nightin—‘ 

‘Give them a few minutes.’ 

‘Is there a problem?’ 

Evan put finger to his lips and they listened. There was silence for a few moments and then, a distinct ‘Maker’s breath, I’ve missed you.’ 

Evan and the runner shared a smile. 

  



	15. When Things Get Real

They had left Skyhold early, quietly, with a few people gathered, wishing them safe travels, a swift kiss from Cassandra pressed to Cullen’s chilly cheek; quiet goodbyes in the light mist, fine droplets beading in their hair. 

They were just passing the first few farmhouses of a small town, hoping there was a tavern somewhere where they could stop for the night. 

‘I was thinking ...’ Cullen said. 

The road they were on was muddy, pitted with cart tracks, and strewn with debris from recent heavy rainfall, though they had escaped the worst of it in an open sided barn with dry hay and a family of cats. Hawke had been silent most of the way, which had made Cullen thoughtful. 

‘Hmm?’ Hawke turned his head slightly. 

‘Lothering is on the way.’ 

Hawke didn’t reply. Cullen looked over at him. Saw the neutral expression and decided to plunge on. ‘We could stop.’ 

This time Hawke nodded. ‘A friend wrote to me, years ago, while I was in Kirkwall. Told me how it had been abandoned. The land is poisoned.’ 

‘Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve had soldiers out here, scouting.’ He looked ahead again, nodded to a farmer who looked up and raised a hand. ‘It was a silly idea, I’m sorry.’ 

‘Not at all. Thank you for suggesting it. I wonder, my father’s marker might still be there.’ 

They rode on in silence. The houses were closer together now, and soon they were in the centre of the town. The remains of market day were around them; closing stalls, children, litter, a spilled basket of crushed and muddied apples. The tavern was easy to spot. People sat outside and music spilled out of the open door and windows. The little sign creaked in the fresh breeze. 

*** 

Of course there was only one room. 

‘Sorry, market day. We get all the folks here ‘round,’ 

‘We don’t mind sharing,’ Hawke said. 

Cullen looked at him. ‘No, but—’ 

‘Shall we discuss this in private?’ Hawke asked with a smile. 

‘You want the room or not?’ 

‘Yes, we do,’ Hawke said and paid. 

The owner led them up flights of stairs until they reached a small room at the top of the inn. She opened the door and handed them the key. ‘There’s stew tonight, and if you need an early start someone should be up to get you some breakfast. You want hot water either of you?’ 

‘Please,’ Hawke said. The woman nodded, and went away. 

‘Did you have to bathe?’ Cullen was aware he was sniping at nothing but he felt antsy at having to share a room. It made all sorts of things far too possible. 

‘I like baths. You could hop in too if you like.’ 

‘What I’ve said stands.’ Cullen sighed and shook his head. ‘You know this is important to me.’ 

‘You send out all sorts of mixed messages you know. If you have a room to scurry off to, it’s fine, if we share, it isn’t.’ 

‘It makes it more real …’ and he wasn’t looking at the world’s most committed man. ‘As if I have expectations.’ 

‘Are you saying you need a marriage proposal?’ 

Cullen sighed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ 

‘Then just think of it as bunking with another recruit.’ 

‘You’re not just another recruit.’ 

‘I call that progress,’ Hawke said. 

Cullen ignored the pithy remark. They slung their bags in a corner. ‘Fine. It’s a double bed, we can manage. We’ll put the pillows down the middle,’ said Cullen, not sure whether anything had actually been cleared up. 

Hawke was silent a moment, then gave a short laugh. ‘No we won’t. I won’t anyway. I want mine. You do what you like. It’s been a long day in the saddle. I just want to eat, wash and sleep, and if you could stop acting like I’m some bloody lecher that would make things a whole lot more pleasant.’ 

Cullen had to admit Hawke had a point. ‘Alright. I apologise. I’ll eat while you bathe.’ 

‘You could help me work up a lather.’ 

‘Maker’s breath, Hawke, give it a bloody rest.’ 

‘Oh don’t be so pissy, Cullen. I was joking.’ 

Cullen held his gaze a moment and left. 

*** 

They sat beside each other in the crowded bar later. Their elbows bumped together on the table, their knees together beneath. They both smelled of saddles and soap, and a faint tang of lyrium hung in the air around Hawke. 

Cullen downed half of his drink and listened to the chat in the room. It was all so familiar; crops, livestock, whose cattle were lame, deals missed or being made. Warmth and laughter, all wrapped in the hopsy smell of Ferldan ale. He’d missed it. 

But he also missed his tower, his men, his routine. Sharing a room with Hawke felt like he’d thrown everything he’d said to Hawke in the air. It felt wild and loose and thrilling and unnerving and committed and he felt he was on the verge of a panic attack with every tight breath. 

Hawke sat beside him, oblivious. 

That was fine. He didn’t want to burden anyone, and Hawke was the problem. 

Cullen considered that thought. No, not the problem. But definitely part of the problem. He was worried about seeing his family again. That … was something he was avoiding thinking about. 

It was easier to think about Hawke, who eclipsed everything around him. His easy charm made the serving girl smile, the woman behind the bar, the man in the market, the list went on. Hawke seemed not to notice and sat comfortably, quietly, beside Cullen, shoulders touching as they leant forwards. At some point he took Cullen’s hand in his own. ‘Sorry about earlier,’ he said. ‘I do respect everything you’ve said, I was just being an idiot.’ 

Cullen sighed. ‘No. I was being pissy. I’m sorry. I’m a bit on edge. Seeing my family again is a big thing for me.’ 

‘I can understand that. It’s been what, seventeen years? They’ll have changed too.’ 

‘I know. I know.’ 

‘What worries you particularly?’ 

Cullen gave Hawke a flat look. ‘Consider my history as a Templar.’ 

‘Said the Commander of the Inquisition forces.’ 

Cullen hung his head. ‘I was in the right place at the right time.’ 

‘Oh yes, silly me. Youngest Knight-Captain and youngest Knight Commander in the Order, overthrew his commanding officer who was, frankly, crazy. Saved—‘ 

‘Hawke, stop.’ 

‘—the life of the Champion of Kirkwall too as I recall, and then kept Kirkwall from falling apart afterwards. Organised—‘ 

‘Please stop.’ 

‘Correct me if I’m wrong then, Cullen.’ 

‘Condoned the incarceration of mages against their will—‘ 

‘Yes, you did that. I murdered people. I was responsible for the death of Merrill’s clan because I made a fucking awful decision—‘ 

‘They attacked you first, Varric said.’ 

‘They did, there was a lot of bitterness but I handled it terribly.’ 

‘They handled it worse. There was more of them. You do what you can at the time and …‘ Cullen tailed off, looking into Hawke’s face, noting the knowing gaze. ‘Ok.’ He sighed. ‘Thank you, yes. I’m not that man anymore. I haven’t been for a while.’ 

Hawke finished his pint and pushed the glass away. ‘Let’s get some sleep, eh?’ 

*** 

Hawke banked the fire carefully, adding a couple more logs, while Cullen shimmied out of his boots and breeches and under the covers in a hurried scramble. 

Hawke leisurely stripped to his smalls, before sliding into bed next to Cullen. ‘Relax,’ he said. 

‘I’m fine,’ Cullen said testily. 

‘Oh I forgot the candle. You go, I just got comfy.’ 

‘You were last into bed.’ 

Hawke sighed. ‘Fine. I just think you want a chance to ogle me.’ 

‘My eyes are closed.’ 

‘No peeking then.’ 

Cullen sighed again. But he did look. A quick glance at strong shoulders, dark hair on arms and chest and belly, scars. So many scars and then the light was gone and the bed dipped and Hawke tugged the covers over himself. 

‘We’re sharing covers,’ Cullen reminded him. 

‘Are you cold?’ 

‘Not as warm as I’d like but it’s fine.’ 

They lay still for a while, Cullen incredibly aware of the body in bed beside him, aware of each breath he took, each movement. After a while Hawke’s breathing evened out and Cullen rolled his head to look at him in the dim light. Hawke lay with a hand shoved behind his head, the other on his belly. 

Cullen could just make out the dark hairs on his forearms. He slowly reached out and touched Hawke’s forearm with his fingertips, touched an old scar, the rise of veins at his wrist. Hawke moved his arm in sleep and Cullen pulled his hand back. He rolled onto his side, his back towards Hawke and the heat the man was radiating, tucked his hand under his head and tried to sleep. 

*** 

He woke to the mattress moving and Hawke stumbling about in the dark. A tiny flame flowered into life in Hawke’s hand, then died. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Need a drink of water.’ 

‘What time is it?’ 

‘Dunno. Early. Go back to sleep.’ Hawke came back and Cullen felt the mattress dip again, and again nearer and then an arm firmly curled over his chest. ‘Hawke.’ 

‘Hmm?’ Hawke’s breath tickled his ear, then Hawke was behind him, his warm body curling round Cullen’s, and his face pressed against the curve of Cullen’s neck. ‘Maker, you’re freezing,’ Hawke said. 

‘Hawke,’ Cullen said again with a little less conviction, but the arm around him just tightened, pulling him closer. 

‘Hush, I’ll warm you up.’ 

‘I’m fine.’ 

Hawke was snuffling in his hair. ‘Maker, I love how you smell.’ He pressed a kiss to Cullen's shoulder. 'Cuddly too.' 

‘Cuddly. I’m a bloody soldier.’ 

Hawke chuckled against him. ‘Get over yourself, Templar.’ 

Cullen lay still, wrapped in Hawke. The warmth was seductive and the strength of his hold, his chest at his back made Cullen feel secure, and safe, and strong, even though he’d been this close to Hawke before. He sucked in a deep breath remembering the last time, the wanton way he’d … but here, in a room in a village far from Skyhold, it was all so much more. 

‘That’s better, just relax,’ Hawke sighed sleepily. 

‘Hawke.’ 

‘Andraste’s tits, Cullen. Just enjoy it and go to sleep,’ Hawke said, his breath in Cullen’s hair, his hand catching Cullen’s wrist. 

It was only moments before Hawke was snoring softly against the back of his neck, his breath a warm tickle. Cullen felt contained, and marvelled at the newness of the feeling. It was nice. So nice. More than nice. The intimacy and casual familiarity was making him feel a bit lightheaded. Hawke wrapped around him like a promise made him feel decadent. 

This is what it would be like to be part of Hawke’s life, to feel this security and certainty as a normal everyday thing. Though he still had doubts that Hawke would be able to leave his demons behind him. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, tried to map Hawke’s body onto his own skin, onto his mind, to be able to remember it for when it wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t a selfish man, he wasn’t given over to wants and desires. Nobody could ever accuse him of accruing favour and power, of being soft on himself and faltering. He served, he got his job done, he kept people alive. 

But while he’d always thought Hawke needed someone who shone as he did, who knew what it was like to live life at breakneck speed, who led when they needed a champion, right now he selfishly wanted this closeness with Hawke just for himself. 

He made himself relax, made his limbs go soft, and his breathing calmer. Hawke shifted, tucking one ankle between Cullen’s, the heat of his thigh so intimate that Cullen blushed. Hawke sleepily kissed the bare skin above the neck of his tunic. He shifted and pushed his hand into Hawke’s, sure he was too sleepy to notice. 

Hawke gently laced their fingers. 


	16. A Pinch of Salt (Part I)

‘Morning, sleepy head,’ Hawke said, behind him as Cullen opened his eyes and rolled onto his back. 

Hawke’s hand scrubbed briefly through Cullen’s hair. ‘Hey,’ he said. Cullen turned his head and looked at Hawke who smiled back. 

‘Morning,’ he replied, his gaze dropping briefly to Hawke’s mouth, realising as he looked up again that Hawke had done the same, and then they both moved forwards and he felt Hawke’s mouth on his, the scrub of his beard against his skin, the hand that came up to tangle in his hair and felt the sigh in Hawke’s chest beneath his fingers. The kiss was slow and sensuous, leaving Cullen feeling buzzy and languid and wanting more. 

He pulled back and pushed himself up onto his knees. ‘Sorry.’ 

‘For what?’ Hawke was letting his gaze roam over Cullen. 

‘For that.’ 

‘Why are you apologising?’ 

Cullen slid out of the bed. ‘After what I said last night.’ 

Hawke shrugged non-committedly. 

‘A quick breakfast and we can go.’ Cullen said as he tugged his breeches on, conscious of Hawke’s perusal, and trying hard not to stand on the legs of his breeches and trip himself up. He sat down on the end of the bed eventually, turning his head to look at Hawke. 

‘It’s going to be weird seeing my family after so long.’ 

‘It’ll be nice. Strange at first, but nice. They’re your family, Cullen.’ 

‘You don’t have to come all the way with me, you know. If it makes you feel uncomfortable.’ 

‘Why will it be uncomfortable?’ 

Cullen turned away. ‘They’ll think there’s something going on.’ 

‘They’d be wrong so far, wouldn’t they? Though going by how you threw yourself at me just then.’ 

‘Oh fuck off, Hawke,’ Cullen grinned. ‘You’re such a flirt.’ 

Hawke chucked his pillow at Cullen. ‘And you love it.’ 

*** 

That day they covered a good distance, and again found an inn at a town. It had two rooms. Hawke looked at Cullen before taking them both, giving him the option. He nodded. Two rooms. Hawke paid. 

They ate and chatted and took a walk around the town in the dusk. They sat and drank a pint and headed to bed, each to their own rooms. Cullen took the first room, and Hawke paused as he opened the door. Cullen turned to look at him, but Hawke just smiled, put his hand on Cullen’s waist and kissed him briefly, then pulled away. ‘Night, Cullen.’ 

*** 

The sounds of the tavern had died down, as the last few drinkers left, and the rooms filled. Hours passed. Cullen lay awake. He could think only of the man next door; warm and sleepy, snoring gently, sprawled across the bed. 

He rolled onto his side. What he wanted to do was go and crawl in beside Hawke, into his life. Lie beside him and touch him, feel the beat of his heart, the curve of his muscles, his gaze on him. That’s what he wanted. 

If he thought giving up being a Templar had changed him it was nothing compared to how coming off lyrium had made him feel. He could taste again, see properly, sharper, depth and colour were almost dizzying. He was thinking clearer too. Thinking properly, thinking real thoughts he knew were his own and he knew, absolutely that he was in love with Hawke. 

He cared, and had for years, maybe because he’d known him before he became Champion, when he was just an apostate who went where, and did what, he shouldn’t. It had hurt to watch him fight till he was bloody and raw and to watch him fall into the arms of others to hide from his own guilt. It had hurt. Because he had wanted him for himself. And yes, of course he had turned Hawke down, because it was the singular most ridiculous thing he had ever heard in his life; an apostate and a Templar. 

Now though, he was a little scared. It would be so easy to give in and just love the man and lose himself but he was scared that Hawke would never lay his guilt to rest and never just stop running from or to whatever it was that drove him. Shadows, Dorian had called them. Cullen always thought Hawke was searching, rather than escaping. He shook his head. What future did they have? 

And then he thought about seeing is family and what he was going to say, and how he was going to explain things, and he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly staving off the fizzing panic rising in his chest. 

He tugged the blankets around himself and tried to sleep. 

*** 

Hawke sighed and rolled over onto his back. Maker, he had no idea Cullen could be so stubborn. The man was driving him crazy. Kissing him was … Hawke smiled. Wonderful. Heady, sweet, sexy. 

And yes of course he understood Cullen’s hesitation. Who would want someone like him who couldn’t stay in one place for longer than a few weeks before needing to move, to run, to hide. 

He threw an arm over his face and sighed. He thought about what Rainier had said, Varric, Evan. Was he that obvious he wondered, that Cullen’s friends felt they had to give Hawke pointers on how to be happy, how to be someone worth having. He let out a tight, irritated sigh at himself and lay on his side and tried to sleep. 

Ten minutes later he sat up. Sod this. He missed Cullen. He missed his cool hands and needy hugs, his quiet desire. He didn’t want to sleep separately. If Cullen didn’t want sex, that was fine. He would show him he wanted him in his life regardless of that. And if that meant nights of holding him then that was what he would do and to hell with two rooms and separate beds. 

He flung back the covers and started pulling his things together. He dressed and flung his things in his bag, but as he was checking to make sure he hadn’t left anything he heard a shout of pain. No, fear. He blinked. Silence. Was that Cullen? It came again. 

‘People are trying to sleep,’ a muffled irritated voice said from somewhere outside his room. 

He stuck his head into the corridor. A distant moaning cry. Definitely Cullen. Another door opened. ‘My friend has nightmares,’ he said to forestall any complaints. ‘I’ll see to him.’ 

‘Thought someone was being murdered.’ 

Hawke could hear Cullen obviously still battling his demons in his sleep as he pulled the door shut to his room. He smiled his best reassuring smile at another guest who had looked out at the noise. ‘Nightmares, nothing to worry about.’ 

‘I had nightmares for years,’ the man said. ‘Try salt in his socks.’ 

‘Salt?’ Hawke asked with a puzzled smile, trying desperately not to engage but finding it impossible to get past the man who was standing far too close. 

‘Aye, sprinkled in his socks. Demons hate salt.’ 

‘Do they really?’ Hawke said. ‘Thank you, I’ll be sure to tell him.’ He edged past the man smiling and nodding. ‘Salt, right.’ 

‘The good stuff, not that cheap import stuff.’ 

Hawke had his hand on Cullen’s door. ‘Good stuff.’ Cullen was silent. Was that a good thing? 

‘They sell it here in town. I bought some. I’ll get you some if you like.’ 

‘No, it’s fine, thank you, I’ll see he gets some in morning.’ Hawke nodded. ‘Cullen?’ he said, tapping on the door. 

‘It’ll be no bother.’ The man was standing at Hawke’s shoulder. 

‘Fine, ok then, thank you. Cullen?’ Hawke tried the handle out of habit, pointlessly he thought because who wouldn’t lock the door to their room in a tavern in a strange town? Cullen obviously, because the door swung open as he leaned in and he caught himself before falling. 

‘How much shall I get?’ 

Oh Maker . ‘Uh,’ Hawke managed. He glanced at Cullen curled on his side. ‘A handful, a pinch, I don’t know. Thank you,’ he said to the man, pushed the door shut and locked it. 

‘I’ll leave it at the bar,’ the man’s voice was muffled through the door. 

Hawke considered casting a little heat spell around the man’s feet to make him dance back to bed, but resisted. ‘Thank you,’ Hawke called, making a small flame as he moved over to the bed. He lit the candle and raised the fire in the fireplace, from embers to flames, warming and cheerful. Gently he perched on the bed. 

‘Hey, Cullen?’ he said quietly. 

‘Stay away from me,’ Cullen whispered. 

‘It’s Hawke, Cullen. Can you open your eyes?’ 

Cullen shook his head vigorously. His blond hair was messy, his hands were over his face and his body trembled as Hawke watched, then calmed. Hawke reached out and gently smoothed his hand onto the man’s bare shoulder, sliding his palm over the cool skin, circling, hopefully grounding him. ‘Is this ok?’ 

‘Demon.’ 

‘I’m not a demon. Demons are cold, remember?’ This must have meant something to Cullen because he nodded. ‘Good. Can you take my hand?’ He touched the back of Cullen’s hands still tightly clamped over his face. A moment passed, then Cullen grasped Hawke’s hand in both of his, pressed it to his forehead. His breathing hitched but he didn’t tremble again. 

‘Are you awake? Do you know where you are?’ 

Cullen nodded in reply. Hawke continued stroking, moving his hand over Cullen’s back in long, firm strokes, letting him feel the heat of his hand and the firmness of reality. ‘You’re ok now.’ 

‘I watched them all die,’ Cullen whispered. He pressed Hawke’s hand to his cheek. ‘I watched.’ 

‘I know.’ Hawke moved onto the bed, leaving his hand in Cullen’s. ‘Let me hold you, you’re cold.’ 

‘I see them, over and over.’ 

‘I know,’ Hawke said again, simply. He manoeuvred Cullen into a sitting position with the covers round his shoulders, and then held him. He could feel his heart beating hard and fast so he rocked him and stroked his head, as Cullen whispered what he had seen. Hawke made small noises of affirmation as he let him talk, horrified at what he was hearing because he’d heard only rumours before. 

Cullen eventually fell silent, but Hawke went on rocking him, letting a little healing magic seep into the man. It worked on him too because Hawke found himself closing his eyes as the warmth between their bodies rose. ‘You alright?’ 

Cullen nodded against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I feel an idiot.’ 

‘Please don’t.’ 

‘I’m Commander—‘ 

‘Cullen, be quiet,’ he said as gently as he could. ‘You do this all the time, it’s like armour. Just be who you are at the moment, okay? You need this.’ 

‘I’ll never be able to look you in the face again.’ 

Hawke was silent a moment, then chuckled. ‘Salt in your socks is supposed to work,’ he said. 

‘Salt?’ 

‘In your socks. The old guy opposite recommended it. He’s going to buy you some tomorrow.’ 

‘What’s it for?’ 

‘Oh sorry, nightmares. Cures them. Demons don’t like salt apparently.’ 

Cullen pulled back and looked at Hawke. ‘Well it would have made life simpler in the Circles if we’d known that,’ he said. ‘Half-baked bloody folk remedies,’ he added under his breath. Then took in Hawke’s dressed state. ‘Were you going somewhere?’ 

‘I was wondering if the guy in in the next room wanted company.’ 

Cullen smiled. 

‘You thought I was running off in the night, didn’t you?’ 

The smile faded. 

‘Maker’s breath, Cullen.’ He sat back, his hands in his lap. He let out a tight breath. ‘I’m sorry. It’ll keep till morning. Will you be ok?’ 

‘I’m sorry. I assumed …’ Cullen tailed off and drew in a deep breath. ‘Stay? Please.’ 

‘Yes, of course. Do you really think I’d leave like that?’ 

‘Hawke, not now—‘ 

‘Cullen.’ 

‘Maybe? I don’t know, Garrett. If you needed to, perhaps.’ Cullen looked at Hawke and waited. 

‘I’m on a trip halfway across Fereldan with the Commander of the Inquisition who hasn’t seen his family for years. Why do you think I’m here? And it’s not for the damn scenery and home cooking.’ 

‘Because it gets you away from Skyhold,’ Cullen said slowly, as if each word were fragile and breakable as he laid them out. 

Hawke was silent a moment. ‘I’ve never needed a reason to leave Skyhold. I hate the place.’ 

Cullen was silent a moment. ‘Alright, I understand what you’re saying, I just wonder how long for.’ 

‘I know you do.’ 

‘I don’t expect you to stay, you aren’t committed to this.’ 

‘I want to be here.’ 

Cullen nodded. He linked their fingers and squeezed. 

Hawke looked down at their hands, before lifting Cullen’s up and kissing his knuckles. ‘Is that ever going to be good enough?’ 

‘I’ll take whatever you offer me, for the moment,’ Cullen said. 

  



	17. Caging a Hawke

Cullen woke slowly, rising through the dregs of sleep, becoming aware of Hawke. Becoming aware of the comforting heaviness of Hawke’s arm around him, the slight spread fingers, the slight tightness of the grip, grounding him and knew he would never tire of it. Hawke’s chest rose and fell slowly, in time with his own. 

The memory of the night, and finding Hawke beside him as he struggled with his nightmare, and Hawke holding him while he cried. Maker. He’d been at his worst. Hawke had held him and rocked him and he had clung to him and seen only his demons. Now though the teeth of his nightmare were muzzled and just an unpleasant memory a little tender like a bruise. 

Something about salt? Some story Hawke had made up? Being the salt in his life, keeping the demons at bay. 

He turned his head to look at him sleeping, mouth open slightly, with a snore that was building in volume on every breath. 

It wouldn’t have occurred to him that being with Hawke was possible when he’d left Kirkwall, but he knew he wasn’t the same man as he had been. Back then these thoughts wouldn’t have been possible. Then he had been bitter and turned in on himself despite the light of the Maker in his life. It had been poor, painful justification. He could see now how his world had been small and painful and bound by the need to be right and see the word of the Andraste imposed, and used not to interpret and aid men, but to confine and hurt. 

As he had been. 

Things fell into place. 

He could see decisions and actions that he’d made over the years, stemming from his need to control his fear and himself, and to justify those experiences that had led to him feeling like he was in freefall, falling into place like the tumblers in a lock, one after the other, leading him from Kinloch to Greenfell, and then to Kirkwall. 

It all felt as inevitable as the day following the night. He looked back at himself, young and hurting in that cell and then in his new posting in Kirkwall and he ached to smooth the anger and pain away. 

He had made mistakes but he had been a broken man while he did so. It wasn’t an excuse, it was a reason. When he made decisions and said things that now seemed like another man making them, and later in his cold tower at night, wondered in frustration at the lack of compassion in his actions, it helped to understand that, in Kirkwall at least, he had been a man acting on memories that had shaped every thought and action for years, and had certainly been the reason he had been promoted so far so quickly. It hurt that his position had been built on pain; his own, his friends, and the mages in his care. 

He squeezed his eyes tighter together. The weight of shame and guilt … he knew how Hawke felt because this was the same, but he knew he would council Hawke to move on and learn, because holding on to it never let the healing start, just kept it an open wound. 

Incredibly, or despite this, Hawke saw something in him, because right now he was here, still holding him, warm and strong and comforting, and Hawke wanted to be here. ‘Maker,’ he whispered, and pushed his hand around Hawke’s waist tucking himself closer, soaking up his warmth, pressing his face against his skin. Lyrium left him cold. He struggled to keep warm on all but the hottest days, but being close to Hawke was like lying in the sun and he didn’t want to give it up just yet. 

*** 

After a long, sleepy while he opened his eyes and met Hawke’s gaze. Hawke with a slight smile on his lips. Cullen smiled back after a moment. Then chuckled. He met Hawke’s bright eyed gaze again then dropped his gaze to the man’s mouth and he watched in fascination as Hawke’s lips parted slightly. 

He swallowed suddenly. It was nothing to touch his mouth to Hawke’s, to share a breath. 

Was this ok ? He waited to be humoured by a quick hard kiss after last night. After all the things he’d said he could hardly expect more. But it never came. Instead Hawke moved, stroked him, helped him move. He tasted Hawke’s mouth, Hawke letting him take control. He angled his head, wanting to be closer, moved up the bed, feeling the quickening breath of the man beneath him and the soft sweet noises he was making. 

Hawke’s hands moved up and down sides, around him, holding him, feeling his skin, his shape, tracing the line of his spine down to slide over his ass, and as lost as he was in the kiss, Hawke shifting to let him drop between his legs brought his head up. He looked at Hawke, seeing his wide pupils, and his dick pressed against his belly. 

Hawke lifted his head, and pressed his mouth to Cullen’s again, a groan in his throat, felt in his chest, a hand at the back of his head, and a seductive grinding of his cock against Cullen's. Cullen dragged his mouth from Hawke’s and gave in to tasting his the soft skin beneath his ear, Maker, feeling so dizzy and wild and Hawke was laughing, groaning, stroking. 

Hawke nibbled kisses along his shoulder, his cheek, his lips. Both hands on his arse now, pulling him against Hawke, kneading and parting his arse cheeks, his thighs caught beneath Hawke’s legs, his mouth open as Hawke feverishly kissed along his pulse, to his shoulder, and then he dragged a breath in, and he swallowed. 

Cullen heard the sigh as his head went back against the pillow. Hawke’s hand slid upwards to Cullen’s waist, and Cullen blinked, awakening to the sensations beyond his dick and his mouth and all points in between. 

Hawke opened his eyes. ’Sorry. It’s these damn mixed messages again.’ 

'Oh for fuck's sake.' Cullen rolled away and sat up. How could he explain that Hawke felt as flighty as a the bird he was named for, drifting on unpredictable winds. He glanced back at him. ‘Perhaps you think I’m taking advantage of you.’ Hawke snorted. ‘Mature of you,’ said Cullen. 

‘Oh for the love of the Maker—‘ 

‘You were right last night. The first thing I thought was that you were leaving. That’s why you’re getting mixed messages, because I am too. You’ve already done it once.’ 

He slid off the bed and dressed. He was fighting a headache, and now he was fighting his stupid idiot heart that was urging him to fall back into Hawke’s arms. 

‘I’ll get some food. If you still want to come along.’ He glanced at Hawke as he stood and started to dress. 

‘I came back.’ Hawke paused. When Cullen didn’t reply he said, ‘you still want me to?’ 

A long moment passed and then Cullen sighed. ‘Yes of course. You know I do.’ 

‘Then I’ll see to the horses.’ 

Cullen nodded and left. 


	18. Homecoming (A Pinch of Salt Part II)

They were silent for a long while. The only sounds were the sharp strike of shod hooves on the rough road surface, the wind in the high, scrubby trees, and the occasional pheasant breaking cover. Hawke rode with his eyes closed, dozing, feeling the occasional patch of sunlight on his skin. 

*** 

He found his father’s marker just outside Lothering, leaning a little in its place. Cold, grey, lichened stone, one amongst so many. 

He’d imagined this in his head a dozen times, since Cullen had suggested stopping. Imagined the things he’d say, what he’d lay on the stone, but now he didn’t feel a need. It was enough, touching it. He felt surprisingly calm. 

A couple of tears fell and he scrubbed them away idly. Promises he’d made sounded in his head and he squeezed his eyes shut briefly, aware of the sucking guilt and the fragile reasoning overlaying it that this wasn’t his fault. If he analysed why he was here, on his knees in the dirt before a chipped headstone, he couldn’t quite work out why or what he was hoping for. When Cullen had suggested it, it had felt right, like the turning of a key in a lock, but now he felt a slight disappointment. It answered nothing. 

Certainly it gave him a focus for a knot of pain he carried, though that wasn’t something that was going away anytime soon. There was a time when he’d been almost overwhelmed by it, when seeing the smallest reminders had sent him into a lonely introspection, and he learned to seek out his friends in the rowdiest inn and drink and laugh and fool around until the knot loosened and he could function again. 

Friends who’d played the parts of his family. 

He looked up at Cullen then. He was standing a way off, holding the horses and he smiled when he saw Hawke looking over and Hawke smiled back. 

Something about the man was so real and as undeniable as a lodestone. Once Hawke would have put that down to his being a Templar. That’s what he’d thought he’d seen in the man, when he’d stood implacable in the courtyard of the Gallows, absolute in his certainty that he was right and just and the world would keep spinning because anything else was unthinkable. 

Now he knew it was who Cullen was and he craved everything Cullen was more than anything in his life before and it really did hurt, right inside his chest. 

He swore softly to himself and looked back at the marker. Like a warm coat on a cold day, his realisation settled onto him, into his bones. 

What he felt was the same thing that had made his parents run away together and choose the life that they had, and all of his family. 

None of them ever did as they were told, they chose their own paths, and he could see that in himself, in his mother, Carver and Beth. He chose. They chose. This was his choice, being here with Cullen was his choice and it felt right. 

For all that he’d felt abandoned, he’d been born to people who loved and believed in each other so much that anyone else had been a distraction. 

He straightened and rested his fingers on the cold stone once more, with a tentative sense of peace. 

*** 

He looked up as Cullen approached. 

‘Cullen.’ 

‘Hmm?’ Cullen stood beside him, their arms brushing, their knuckles and without needing words they linked fingers, sliding their hands together, palm to palm. It was a simple touch, the touch a parent gives a child, the touch of best friends, healers, lovers. It was all those in the strength of Cullen’s fingers, his lean hard hand and the coolness of his skin. 

Hawke wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. All he could think was how Cullen made all this bearable. Hawke had never felt his belief shift inside him as strongly or as deeply as this; none of it felt as important as feeling Cullen standing beside him, saying how he felt with the pressure of his hand, unknowingly making all this emptiness part of Hawke’s past and he sucked a long ragged breath in. 

The light felt different. The same sun, the same light, felt different. The air felt cleaner, fresher. He felt stronger and more conscious of himself and where he fitted in all of this, and overwhelmingly that he was enough as he was. Nothing had changed, but everything was different. 

He was aware Cullen was still looking at him. He shook his head with a smile. They walked hand in hand back to the horses. They swung into their saddles, and started down the road away from the ruined town. 

*** 

They rode a while before Cullen spoke. ‘Are you alright?’ 

‘Yes, thank you.’ 

‘Did you …’ Cullen paused, not sure what he was trying to say. Find what you were looking for? Was it ok to ask that? 

‘It put things in perspective.’ 

Hawke wasn’t going to be drawn. They shared a smile and rode on. If Hawke wanted to share he was sure he would, and it wasn’t his place to go questioning things. He couldn’t imagine what going to his parents’ marker now would be like although their experiences had been different. 

‘Do you want to stop and eat yet or shall we keep going?’ 

‘I’m happy to keep going.’ 


	19. Oh, Grey Warden

In the end they stopped a night at a tavern in a little village off the Western Highway. They sat and watched the regulars fill the seats, and a bard struck up, singing a few local songs they both remembered but couldn’t remember all the words too. Cullen held Hawke’s hand and they were slumped against each other. 

The visit to Lothering had left Hawke quiet. When his hand stole around Cullen’s waist and then dropped to his hip Cullen just smiled and shifted a little closer, sliding his hand over Hawke’s thigh. His fingers felt weak and shaky, but he didn’t stop. He wanted this closeness. For the first time in his life he felt at peace, and he felt complete. 

They sat a while longer, listening, finishing their drinks until Hawke lifted Cullen’s hand and kissed his fingers. ‘Can we go to bed or do you want another pint?’ 

‘You’ve been quiet, but I don’t want to pry.’ 

Hawke shifted and put his elbows on the table. ‘I remember leaving flowers on my father’s marker before the Blight. Not really thinking about what that meant, visiting, leaving a token.’ 

‘You didn’t leave anything this time.’ 

‘No, I thought about it. What to leave though? Nothing made sense. But I didn't need to. I’m his son, his blood flows in my veins, as I found out,’ Hawke said with a rueful smile. Cullen touched his shoulder, but there was no tension.’ 

‘Do you still want to come with me?’ 

Hawke slid Cullen a look and smiled when Cullen rolled his eyes. ‘And here I thought I’d been so obvious,’ he said with a grin. 

Cullen tried to hold back a smile. ‘Talking to you sometimes is like trying to catch a wet Mabari.’ 

Hawke laughed. ‘Yes, Cullen. Of course. It would be an honour.’ 

Cullen smiled and put his forehead against Hawke’s cheek. ‘You always say the right thing.’ 

*** 

Hawke pulled Cullen into a long kiss in their room. Hands roamed and loosened clothes and breath came hard and fast. They made it to the bed, Cullen on his back as Hawke moved up his body, kissing, helping him out of his tunic, tasting hot smooth skin and shivering as Cullen traced is body with his fingertips. Cullen tugged at the lacings of Hawke’s breeches and Hawke used a hand to loosen Cullen’s and between them they laughed and struggled out of the rest of their clothes and lay wrapped in each other, Hawke’s hand teasing down Cullen’s body as he shuddered beneath him. 

Hawke sat back and stroked Cullen before lowering his head and licking up the underside of Cullen’s cock, nuzzling the hair, nibbling with soft lips. ‘Maker,’ Cullen said, his belly tightening. 

Hawke kept on, teasing and tasting until Cullen’s head went back in pleasure and his fingers tightened on Hawke’s shoulders. Hawke took him deeper in his mouth, letting him thrust up, loving Cullen take what he wanted, whimpering for more and harder and for the Maker to take him. 

Hawke lowered his mouth further, sucked long and deep, meeting Cullen’s thrusts, the salty tang of pre-cum and musk filling his senses. He had wanted this for years. Cullen spread out before him in glorious abandon, panting and begging to come. 

A few more deep swallows and Cullen cried out, pumping down Hawke’s throat, his belly jerking, the cords in his neck straining as he curled into his orgasm, his fingers in Hawke’s hair, the sheets, flung over his face in the aftermath, and a cry as filthy as any heard in a brothel escaped his lips. 

Hawke drew Cullen from his mouth slowly, a slow suck that had Cullen twisting with too much sensation, before easing himself up the bed beside him. He wiped his eyes, grinning down at Cullen when opened his eyes and smiled. He reached up and kissed Hawke idly before flopping back down with a silly smile on his face. 

Hawke had a sudden twinge of hesitation, looking at him, thinking fond thoughts of doing this regularly and waking up beside him every morning. ‘Your family …’ 

Cullen opened his eyes and looked at him as if he'd started speaking Tevene. ‘What about my family?’ 

Hawke frowned, not often given over to doubt of this sort. He’d never had the time or … well, inclination before. ‘Think they’ll like me?’ 

'Oh,' Cullen said and smiled. 

*** 

The next morning Hawke ran his hand down his horse’s neck, looping her reins over her head, when the horse backed. He glanced to the stable doors and saw a figure, a warden, which explained the jittery animal. He turned away, soothing the horse, stroking his hands over her neck, dropping a little healing magic into his touch, but she wasn’t to be calmed as the warden walked forwards and Hawke turned and looked again, about to speak but something about the way the man moved. 

‘Carver?’ 

‘Brother.’ 

Hawke looked for the stable boy and handed him the reins. ‘Calm her, blighted blood, they can sense it.’ The boy nodded and turned the horse away, talking quietly to her. ‘Out of here, you know how it affects animals.’ 

‘Always others first, right brother?’ 

‘Give it a rest, Carver. Thirty seconds and we’re snapping.’ They emerged into the bright morning sunlight and the bustle of market day. Stalls full of goods; children running between legs laughing; dogs barking. Carver stopped under the covered yard entrance. Hawke stopped a few feet away and looked at him. ‘This isn’t a coincidence.’ 

‘No. I had heard you were travelling this way.’ 

Cullen came out of the inn at that moment and Hawke looked at him, waited for him to spot Carver. Carver followed his gaze. ‘You’re with him?’ 

Hawke looked back at his brother a moment before looking back at Cullen. Cullen nodded and pointed back into the tavern, briefly raising a hand in greeting to Carver. 

‘You’re with him?’ Carver repeated. Hawke looked back at Carver. ‘After everything? Did I miss something?’ 

‘Plenty. Have you been looking for me?’ 

‘No, but I heard you were in the area. I didn’t realise you had company.’ 

‘Social call?’ 

‘Of a sort, I suppose. You were at Lothering.’ It wasn’t a question. 

‘I’m beginning to feel I’m the one missing something.’ 

‘I hear things. It’s been a while.’ 

‘Shall we sit down for this or …’ 

‘We’re only here for a few supplies. Passing through. Wardens aren’t as welcome as they once were.’ Carver leaned against the wall, folded his arms. He was lean, leaner than he had been. The uniform of the Wardens made him seem older than his thirty years. 

‘You’re looking well.’ 

‘I wasn’t planning on chit chat.’ 

Hawke shrugged and looked away. ‘It’s your call then.’ 

‘You know, I get the urge to see you sometimes, make sure you’re ok that sort of thing, and when I do, I remember why it’s never a good idea.’ 

‘You done? Cullen and I have a long journey.’ 

‘Knight Commander Cullen. You were always a bit sweet on him.’ Carver shook his head. ‘A lot of things must have changed. I take it you’re together, not just traveling together.’ 

‘What does it matter to you?’ 

‘Just trying to understand the muddle of a human that is my brother.’ 

‘Why?’ 

‘I’m a warden, Garrett. I’m on a timer.’ 

‘We’re all on a timer.’ 

‘You have no idea.’ 

‘You chose to go on that expedition. You insisted, like a stroppy bloody child, until you got your way. I tried to stop you. We argued long and hard over it. Don’t lay your stupidity at my feet.’ 

Carver raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ve changed your tune.’ 

‘I’ve learned a few things about myself too.’ 

‘Fair enough. I admit, I made a bad decision. But if it hadn’t have been me, it could have been you and mother would have been even more devastated.‘ 

‘Oh don’t give me that crap,’ Hawke sighed. 

‘You always were her fav—‘ 

‘Nice seeing you again, Carver. I have to go,’ Hawke said and walked away, deliberately, angrily. Realising only Carver ever made him feel this terrible. As he reached the door he felt a hand on his arm. 

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to go so badly,’ Carver said. Hawke looked at him, held in a gentle grip. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Well?’ 

‘Perhaps we should sit somewhere.’ 

‘Inside.’ 

‘Cullen?’ 

Hawke hesitated. ‘We’re close.’ He paused, thinking he needed to add something more, but Carver nodded. 

‘Well then, I’m pleased for you, if it makes you happy.’ 

*** 

Cullen was being talked at by the woman behind the bar when they went in. Hawke bought a couple of pints. ‘Is this ok? Do you want to go and I’ll catch you up?’ 

Cullen shook his head. ‘No. Take as long as you need,’ he said. 

Hawke took the drinks and sat opposite Carver at the small table by the window. Carver was looking out through the wrinkled glass, watching people come and go. A man walked past with a mabari. ‘Looks like Dog.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘What happened to him?’ 

‘He’s with Aveline. We talked. He wanted to stay.’ 

‘Bloody mutt.’ 

‘I think he had a similar opinion of you.’ 

‘Thanks for that.’ 

Hawke inhaled deeply. ‘So, I was in Lothering.’ 

Carver nodded. ‘I’ve been several times. I keep the marker clear.’ 

‘I saw Beth’s marker too.’ 

Carver looked up sharply. ‘You went back?’ 

‘I wanted to for a long time but I couldn’t face it. I wasn’t sure there would be anything to go back for.’ 

‘There wasn’t. I put the stones where she fell, from memory. Nothing there.’ 

They were both silent for a few moments. Carver picked up his pint and drank. ‘Losing Beth was like losing a part of myself.’ 

‘I know, Carver—’ 

‘No. You don’t. You’re not a twin.’ 

‘Next you’re going to tell me I don’t feel the hurt as much.’ 

‘You don’t understand.’ 

‘No, you’re right of course.’ Hawke sighed. ‘Carver, so far, this has been a list of grudges against big brother. I’m coming to terms with a few things, I’m trying to move on, make sense of things and find some bloody purpose and peace. I don’t need this.’ He made to stand. 

‘I’m sorry.’ Carver’s voice was barely audible above the noise from the market. 

‘Pardon?’ 

‘I’m sorry. Alright? I’m sorry.’ 

Hawke considered a moment. ‘Can we just have a civil conversation? I was thinking about how we never talked. When I went to the Wilds. I don’t know what I was expecting. It felt like I wasn’t the only one, when I saw the marker for Beth. I wanted to see you then.’ 

Carver looked down at his hands, resting on the table, around his pint. ‘I did it for us both. It needed something. If you ever went back you would know I was here.’ 

‘I never forgot that, Carver,’ Hawke said. 

‘It’s lonely, being a warden.’ 

‘It’s lonely, losing your family.’ 

Carver nodded. They fell silent for a few moments. ‘When I became a warden I felt I’d lost you all anyway. Seemed little point keeping in touch.’ 

Hawke looked at Carver, noted the lines on his face, the darkness in his eyes. He nodded slowly, then picked his pint up and drank, then set the glass down. ‘How are you?’ 

Carver looked back at him, and held his gaze a moment. ‘Good, thank you. Recruiting. Training. How about you?’ 

‘Happiest I’ve been in a long time, thank you.’ 

‘How did—‘ he flicked his eyes at Cullen. ‘A Templar?’ 

Hawke shook his head. ‘He makes it all worthwhile.’ 

Carver frowned and looked at Cullen. ‘After everything?’ 

‘Everything changes. Yes.’ 

‘I suppose. Where are you going?’ 

Hawke gave a short laugh. ‘To see his family.’ Carver raised his eyebrows. 

A warden walked past the window and glanced in, noticed Carver and signaled for him to go. ‘Time’s up.’ He drained his pint and stood. Hawke stood beside him. 

‘Thank you, for finding me. If this is all we have I suppose it’s something.’ 

Carver nodded. After an awkward moment they hugged and Hawke held tight, caught in a strange memory of the man he held, and an inescapable sense of never having met this man before. 

‘How best to reach you?’ Hawke asked. 

‘I can pick up messages up from the Gull in Redcliffe. We pass there fairly regularly.’ 

Hawke nodded. ‘Varric can get messages to me. He’s either in Skyhold or his place in Kirkwall.’ 

‘Will you go back?’ The warden outside tapped on the window. Carver looked and nodded. ‘To Kirkwall?’ 

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He put his hands on Carver’s shoulders. ‘Stay safe, little brother.’ 

‘You too,’ Carver said. He smiled and it was the first time in a very long time Hawke had seen that. 

Hawke leaned forwards and kissed Carver on the forehead. ‘Go,’ he said. 

Carver went and hesitated at the door. He glanced towards Cullen and nodded to him, then looked at Hawke a moment and went. 

*** 

Cullen watched Carver go, then looked at Hawke. He stood with his hands pushed into his pockets, gazing at the spot Carver had been moments before, then turned and walked slowly over, until he stood beside Cullen. 

‘You alright?’ Cullen asked. 

‘Yes.’ 

Cullen put a hesitant hand out and Hawke smiled and stepped into the half hug, his arm going around Cullen’s shoulder. It felt very real then, this thing between them; giving his strength to Hawke felt like his life suddenly had layer after layer, depth, meaning. It wasn’t just his life anymore. It was a life he could share. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to the side of Hawke’s head. 

They paid and they made their way to the horses, and quietly left the town. 

  



	20. Coming

The previous day had been a long hard slog in the rain. A slight skirmish with a couple of ill-equipped bandits and a runaway dog who’d chased them for a mile or two before disappearing into a farm, and they’d fallen into bed late and exhausted. 

The sun was still low and Cullen lay and listened to the sounds of the town coming to life. Behind him the mattress dipped as Hawke rolled against him. ‘Morning,’ he said against his bare shoulder. 

‘Morning yourself,’ Cullen replied and smiled as Hawke wrapped himself around him, his arm around his chest, his leg tucked between Cullen’s. They lay still, Cullen feeling dozy and warm and secure. He sighed happily. 

Something had changed in Hawke. He hadn’t said much, but he seemed calmer. More than he’d ever known him to be. In Kirkwall the man had been full of restless energy fuelled by the events and the people he’d known, and then he’d felt edgy and unsettled, needy. He kissed Hawke’s forearm where it lay across his chest. 

He was fairly sure he dozed off again, because he was suddenly aware of Hawke kissing the hairline at the back of his neck. He shifted to give him more access, and a rill of pleasure trickled through him. Hawke moved, his mouth trailing sensation over the hard muscle between his neck and shoulder and was nipping with his lips, the tip of his tongue and breath feathering making his skin goosebump. 

He felt heavy and relaxed, the warmth of the covers, the warmth rising in his belly and lower back, and the gentle touch of Hawke’s fingers down his arm to his fingers, circling the soft skin of his inner elbow and over the veins of his wrist. ‘More?’ Hawke asked softly, a smile in his voice. There was no rush, no taking. 

‘I want it all,’ Cullen whispered, fighting the familiar feeling of this not being necessary because he wasn’t worth it, with the knowledge that this was Hawke and it felt like a gift. 

Hawke slid his hand round Cullen’s chest, his fingers smoothing against the lines of muscles, tracing an old scar, while he layered kisses against the pulse point in Cullen’s neck. The rasp of his beard sent tingles down his arms; he wanted more and tipped his head back, leaning back against Hawke, as the mage’s hand ran down his flank and cupped his arse cheek and squeezed, rumbling with pleasure as Cullen pushed back against him. 

*** 

Hawke couldn’t hide the smile as Cullen rolled and grasped his hands and pressed them to the pillow above his head. He entwined their fingers, shifting as Cullen went onto his knees clumsily to straddle him and sighed as the man’s weight came down on him. So perfect. 

Their ribs rode over each other as they breathed together and Cullen slid a hand free. His fingers were cool and Hawke felt every soft, hesitant, fluttering touch over his skin and the coolness of his mouth skirting down his neck and he angled his head to one side. He squirmed as Cullen’s teasing tickled and Cullen laughed and tasted his skin, and his fingers moved lower. It was mesmerizing; Cullen’s cool touch drew attention to the path his fingers took, the gentleness of his touch. So long as he didn’t grab his— 

*** 

Hawke’s cock was hot and hard and heavy as Cullen’s fingers circled him. Hawke yelped. ‘Oh I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ Cullen said sitting back. ‘My hands.’ 

‘Your hands,’ laughed Hawke and took Cullen’s hands in his and pushed some heat magic into them. 

‘I forgot,’ Cullen said, heat rising up his cheeks. He clenched his fingers hesitantly. If there was ever a more tenuous use of magic in the service of man. He rubbed the fingers of one hand in the other, feeling them tingle as if he was sinking them into warm water. He smiled a half-smile. ‘I forgot,’ he said again. 

‘I’ll have to remember that,’ Hawke smiled, as he took Cullen’s hands in his again and smoothed them over his chest. He felt the magic dissipate into the air. ‘Now try,’ Hawke said. 

Cullen felt the back of his head pop as he came down over Hawke, and he pushed his face into the crook of his neck. He closed his eyes, and felt all the points where his body met Hawke’s; the hot press of their bellies and chest, the weight of Hawke’s hands on his thigh and arse, the heat seeping into him. It made him needful, making a lie of the notion he held of himself as sexless. 

Alright, maybe he wasn’t completely sexless, but he had found he didn’t need it, until Hawke had come along. It was distracting and he was always so tired and … he tried to silence his mind and just feel Hawke’s hands on him, the hot swell of his cock against him. It was so easy to push back and hear a moan in Hawke’s throat as he met Cullen’s movement. 

Hawke’s mouth on his shoulder, against his neck as he lifted his head. Sweet Maker he was feeling so light headed. Hawke nibbled and sucked at his skin, his beard rasping, soft, focussing his mind on every breath, setting his nerves singing, and he was craving this. His fingers curled into the pillow either side of Hawke’s head. He felt like he lived for nothing else but being here with this man. 

His fingers found Hawke’s cock, and circled him again, this time with warm fingers. He lifted his head and watched Hawke close his eyes and put his head back with a smile. Hawke, whom he had watched from afar, a mage, an apostate, a man who shone like the sun in Kirkwall. 

Cullen had knelt before him as he was made Viscount and yet here Hawke was, sexy and warm and gentle and he, former Templar, recovering lyrium addict, and soldier, was making him utter soft and incoherent sounds of pleasure and Cullen felt the world couldn’t get any stranger or more wonderful. 

He hungered to make Hawke come apart, to give him that with his mouth and fingers and body. ‘Tell me what to do,’ he whispered as he looked down at Hawke, their bodies flush. He gave into the need to rock against Hawke, and his dark eyes opened. 

‘Fuck me,’ Hawke whispered into the shell of his ear, his breath sending shivers down Cullen’s side. 'I want you to fuck me.' 

Oh Maker. 

*** 

‘Here,’ Hawke said, and rolled away, feeling for a small vial, and laughed softly at Cullen’s pink cheeks as he pressed it into his palm. ‘You pin me to the bed to kiss me breathless and you still blush?’ 

The blush deepened. Hawke lifted a hand and stroked the back of his knuckles over Cullen’s heated cheeks. ‘Not what you expected?’ 

‘I don’t know what I expected.’ 

Hawke leant on one arm and studied his face a moment. ‘Is this ok for you?’ 

Cullen nodded. ‘You?’ 

‘I just handed you the oil, didn’t I?’ 

Cullen nodded again and looked at the little bottle, then back at Hawke, meeting his eyes with a grin. ‘Arse in the air then.’ 

Hawke’s groan turned to a laugh as he leaned forwards and kissed Cullen. They rolled backwards onto the bed, Hawke pushing Cullen down, lifting his arms above his head, stretching his body into a hard line of muscle. Kisses down his side made Cullen curl with laughter when Hawke touched sensitive skin at his waist and when Cullen turned onto his front to escape Hawke moved over him, settling his cock in the crease of Cullen’s arse and rolled his hips against him, hard and slow, biting softly along the muscles across his shoulders, teasing the skin with his tongue. Cullen sucked in a breath and there was a muttered ‘Oh yes.’ He pushed his arse up against Hawke. 

‘Thought you were supposed to be fucking me,’ Hawke whispered, his breath tickling against Cullen’s ear. 

Cullen pushed himself up, rolling Hawke off him with a laugh. As Hawke made to lever himself up Cullen caught him and leaned over him. ‘I said, arse in the air.’ Hawke groaned needily, a little stunned at the hard tone in Cullen’s voice which sent had sent a thrill of lust straight to his cock. 

‘You didn’t think I was just going to be bossed around by a retired bloody Templar of all people, did you?’ Hawke said, feeling the urge to goad to see what else he could elicit from this normally reticent man. He turned his head, pushed himself up onto his elbows. But as Cullen’s hand moved to the back of his neck, stilling him, he fell silent. He hung his head, his mind pulled back by soft stokes along his thighs and back, hands pushing his arse cheeks apart. 

He pushed backwards spreading his knees wider, the long stroke from his arse up his spine to his shoulders pulling a shudder from him, rapidly followed by heated kisses and those cooling hands stroking, Maker … gentling him, and he loved it. It was years since he’d been treated so gently, so reverently. That’s what this was. Gentle, aching adoration. Unmistakable and addictive. 

More kisses and the graze of teeth on the swell of his arse pulled a long sigh from him. It was followed by hot breath and hot words against his skin, hands on the inside of his thighs, a hesitant touch to his balls, then a little firmer, and a little too firm grasp of his cock with the swirl of a thumb over the head. Cullen fisted his cock too roughly, making Hawke gasp and his hips buck. ‘Maker, fuck.’ 

‘You Ok?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Is that good?’ 

Hawke paused a heartbeat. ‘Yes.’ Because it was. The sudden thought of being pushed to the edge of pleasure by Cullen was making him feel dizzy. 'Perhaps a bit of rope next time, for that.' 

There was a silence for a moment. Then a soft, ‘Oh Maker.’ 

Hawke chuckled. He heard the vial pop open after a second or two of silence, and hesitant fingers between his arse cheeks. ‘Inside me,’ he said and loved and hated the whine he heard in his voice. 

He held his breath as Cullen dragged a finger over him, willing him to go faster, to get inside him, but wanting every hesitant, gentle stroke, every teasing dip, every whisper of desire from Cullen’s mouth as Hawke chased the sensations. When he felt the slick gentle push of Cullen’s finger he pushed back. The feeling radiated outwards, upwards filling him and he groaned. ‘Oh Maker. Yes, just like that,’ he sighed. 

‘More?’ Cullen asked. 

‘More is good. I want …’ but the words were lost in a happy cry; Cullen twisted his fingers slowly and Hawke pressed his forehead to the mattress. 'Oh fuck, yes,' he gasped and pushed against him. The cool oil and slightly warmer fingers inside him were intoxicating. 

*** 

Cullen watched his fingers sliding into Hawke. It was utterly intoxicating; the sweet smell of the oil, the breathy, needy sighs of the man, and the blood pooling in his own cock. He watched his fingers move in and out of Hawke, and the man push back, taking more than Cullen intended, because he didn’t know how much was good. ‘More,’ Hawke whispered, ‘Just fuck me, love.’ 

Cullen slicked his cock with one hand, matching the move to his fingers inside Hawke, losing his hesitation in the need to hear him make sounds as urgent again. 

He moved between Hawke’s spread thighs and pressed against him, blinking back dizziness and trying to remember to breathe as the head of his cock disappeared into Hawke. He heard Hawke’s breathy long groan, and his ragged, ‘More,’ as he pushed back and Cullen couldn’t think, but slid deeper and closed his eyes and felt the tight heat surround him and the need in Hawke’s voice as Cullen grasped his hips and pulled him back onto him. 

‘Oh, fuck yes fuck,’ Hawke breathed, his back arching. Cullen pushed his hands up Hawke’s back feeling the tension in the man’s muscles, the slight tremor in his shoulders as he curled over him, pressed his forehead to his back and kissed the hot skin. 

He moved, his thrusts short and deep, the movement forcing a grunt from Hawke every time, as he tensed and relaxed, tensed, pushing and taking, filling Hawke, feeling the man clench around him and his own moans. 

One hand supported his weight, the other went around Hawke’s chest. Hawke grasped Cullen’s wrist and brought his hand to his mouth. He kissed his palm, dragged Cullen’s fingers over his lips and took two in his mouth when Cullen pressed them against his lips. Cullen groaned with a sudden image of that hot mouth around him. ‘Fuck,’ he sighed. Each lapping suck of his fingers made wet, delicious, obscene noises. 

Hawke fisted his own cock and in a short time came with a shudder and a long drawn out sigh, as Cullen pulled his fingers from his mouth, that ended with an ‘Oh, fucking fuck,’ and a happy groan. Cullen managed a strangled chuckle before he straightened and pumped into Hawke, losing himself completely in the slap of his flesh against Hawke’s and the fresh scent of sex. 

His eyes closed. 

‘Harder,’ Hawke groaned, ‘oh Maker, harder.’ He felt Hawke’s hand come round and curl round his thigh, his fingers hard and possessive, and Cullen let himself go, stunned, overwhelmed by Hawke’s sobbing groans, Hawke’s hands grasping at nothing as Cullen filled him over and over, and in a few moments his rhythm faltered as he came with a hoarse cry, feeling the hot, delicious slickness inside Hawke and the sudden complete beautiful clarity of his own existence before his perception collapsed back to his own confining body. He bent head to Hawke’s back. His breath was ragged. ‘Garrett,’ he whispered against his skin. ‘Garrett,’ he said again, and pressed a kiss to the skin. 

They stayed like that a few moments. Breaths slowed. He ran a hand up Hawke’s flank and settled on his waist. ‘I want to stay inside you forever,’ Cullen said softly. ‘Right here, feeling you around me.’ 

Hawke grunted softly, and Cullen chuckled at the silly idea and slowly pulled away. He got up to find something to clean them up with, and then dropped onto his back next to Hawke and looked at him. Hawke had slumped onto his belly, his head rested in the crook of his elbow. He still had his eyes closed, and Cullen reached out and brushed his hair from his forehead, the dark, silky hair heavy and damp. 

‘You ok?’ 

‘Head’s buzzing,’ Hawke replied, his eyes still closed but a smile on his lips. 

‘Good or bad?’ 

Hawke opened his eyes finally. ‘You want a rating?’ he laughed. 

‘No! No— I just wanted you to …’ 

‘As firmly as I believe fucking someone isn’t the ultimate goal of a relationship—’ 

‘Relationship?’ Oh that sent Cullen’s heart pounding and he couldn’t stop the ridiculous grin that plastered itself on his face. 

‘Too strong?’ 

Cullen shook his head and they looked at each other. Cullen watched the flicker of Hawke’s long dark lashes, looked at the shape of his eyes, the curve of his eyebrows. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said suddenly, then looked away, immediately regretting it. ‘I meant—‘ 

‘You are too.’ Hawke was smiling when Cullen looked back at him and held his gaze, willing himself to give into being open because he didn’t want to lose this. 

He started to reach out, then stopped. Then shook his head impatiently at himself. He wanted to touch, and that was ok, that was ok, to want to connect because they’d just shared something that had felt so bloody wonderful from where he was lying. 

We fucked, his brain supplied helpfully. Maker’s breath, we fucked. 

His reality slid sideways when he thought about what they’d just done, what he’d just done, and that Hawke was lying next to him and he’d come and he’d helped Hawke come and it was all a bit too much and he pressed his eyes shut. 

He heard Hawke chuckle. ‘I can hear you thinking from here,’ he said. 

Cullen smiled, and opened his eyes. ‘Sorry, I’m not used to being … close.’ 

Hawke nodded an reached out and pushed his hand over Cullen’s waist. ‘I know. It’s ok.’ 

‘I don’t want to be closed off, but who I am, it …’ he sucked in a deep breath. ‘ … you never seem confined by who you are.’ 

Hawke just shook his head slowly. 

Hawke closed his eyes when Cullen lifted his hand and lightly touched Hawke’s lips and smiled when Hawke kissed his fingertips. He let his hand rest on the man’s shoulder as he rolled towards him and pressed a kiss to his arm. 

‘Warm enough?’ Cullen asked. 

‘Covers would be nice but I’m too comfy to move.’ 

Cullen sat up and tugged the covers up from under Hawke’s legs and dragged them up over them both. He lay on his back with a hand under his head and Hawke curled against him, to lay his head on his chest, and closed his eyes. ‘What were you going to say?’ 

‘Hmm?’ 

‘About relationships.’ 

‘It’s not just about sex, was my point. It was going to be longer but …’ he sighed happily. ‘You get my meaning.’ He fell silent again. Cullen stroked his hair slowly and smiled, and was soon pretty sure he’d gone back to sleep. 


	21. Staying

Later, while Hawke had dallied in the bathtub, Cullen had thrown his few things into his pack, checked the horses and bought some food to take with them for lunch. He returned and found Hawke dressed and packing the last of his things. 

Cullen caught his smile as he looked up. He watched Hawke straighten and allowed himself to appreciate the stretch of fabric across Hawke’s chest as he stood. Before, he might have averted his eyes despite wanting to let his gaze linger, never wanting to draw attention and the accusation of being weak and needy, but now he didn’t feel weak, he felt … alive. ‘Ready?’ 

‘Cullen?’ Hawke said. 

He met Hawke’s gaze as the other man moved towards him and stopped toe to toe in front of him, a small smile on his face. Cullen felt a rush of craving. Hawke’s hair was still damp, drying tufts stuck out, his beard held a few last drops of water and his skin was still slightly flushed from the heat of his bath. The urge to lean into him was as strong as if he was on a leash. After the night and morning he felt so close to him, wonderfully close, but he also felt a distance because he didn’t know ... ‘Is everything alright?’ Cullen asked finally. 

‘We’ve spent the last few nights together, we’ve kissed, you finally fucked me senseless …’ Cullen gave an embarrassed laugh and looked down. Hawke chuckled and Cullen felt Hawke’s hand settle on the back of his neck, his fingers stroking, grounding him as Hawke nuzzled his cheek. ‘… and you haven’t touched me since.’ 

Oh. 

There was curiosity in Hawke’s tone, not accusation. Maybe there was a little craving of his own. Those were good things. This was good. Hawke wanted more after all they’d done and Cullen kicked himself for not being more considerate. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, looking up. ‘I thought you might want your own space.’ 

‘My own space?’ 

‘You like your own space.’ 

Hawke shook his head slowly. ‘Yesterday looking at my father’s marker stone, I recognised how my parents felt about each other, because it’s how I feel about you. Nobody else got a look in, and that’s ok, because if you find this you really do hang on to it with both hands.’ Cullen leant into the touch of Hawke’s hand against his cheek. The soft slide of that hand into his hair pulled him forwards gently, flush against the other man. 

‘I love you,’ Hawke said and smiled at the look Cullen gave him, half surprise, half relief, all Cullen. 

Cullen wasn’t quite sure he was hearing right. He met Hawke’s gaze. ‘You know I love you,’ Cullen said. 

‘I know,’ Hawke said. 

Their hips bumped, their noses too as they stilled for a moment, breaths caught between them, before Hawke chuckled as they both leaned the same way to kiss. 

Cullen gave everything of himself. He found himself sighing because he couldn’t keep his breath in his body. He wanted Hawke to know he wasn’t ever going to want anyone else, because he felt imprinted on him like a fucking mabari. 

His eyes stayed closed as Hawke nuzzled his cheek and the soft skin below Cullen’s ear and called him mine with a smile. He whispered what he wanted to do to Cullen and how they better leave or he’d take him to bed and they’d stay there till they ached too much to move and Cullen decided that that all sounded a far better idea than sitting and wanting him from a saddle all day, because sometimes you had to give in and live for the moment. His family could wait one more day. 

When he moved Hawke back towards the bed, reaching for his belt buckle, it earned him a delighted, surprised laugh from Hawke, who shut the door with force magic before they forgot everything except each other. 


End file.
